


Charade

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-17
Updated: 2003-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Justin returns to Pittsburgh, but there are secrets surrounding him and itâ€™s up to Brian to find out whatâ€™s going on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

“Jesus, look at those cars,” Mel exclaims when we drive up in front of Jennifer Taylor’s townhouse. It still looks the way I remember it, still holds the air of being unreachable for a guy like me, as if I’m intruding where I don’t belong. The guy who isn’t good enough for their son. The child molester. The pervert. And I want to run. 

 

Like now. All I want is to turn around and drive on. But there’s no way I can do that. I’m not going to run away. I’m almost thirty five years old. No fucking way I’m going to back down. Not from them. And not from my own inner demons. 

 

“It’s as if all the rich and famous have arrived at once,” Mel adds with a snort. 

 

“The boy was a celebrity – what the fuck do you think would happen? That he’d end up in a poor man’s grave?” I inwardly shake my head at – what? Mel? Myself? The fact that I’m here in the first place? Shit, I really want to run. 

 

“Mommy,” Gus pipes up from the back seat, “Daddy said the bad word.” 

 

“You’re right, he did,” Lindsay gives me a disapproving look from the side. It instantly turns into the kind of concern I hate when she takes a good look at my face. It’s the one laced with pity, the one that makes me feel like a case for the salvation army. “Bri, are you alright?” 

 

Shit – since when has she started reading me like a book? I glance at her protruding belly – maybe it’s hormones, who knows. 

 

“Bri?” she repeats. “Are you alright?” 

 

Alright? Lindsay’s one of the smartest people I know, so I wonder how she can be so fucking dense at times. At the last moment I bite back an angry retort, forcing my face to relax, “I’m fine,” I reply, hoping she’ll buy it. 

 

She doesn’t, but lets it go, nevertheless. Instead she turns back and looks at Gus, “Hey, remember what I told you, Justin’s going to be very sad today. He won’t be in any mood to play with you.” 

 

“Uh-huh.” My son’s face turns serious – well, as serious as the face of an almost six year old can be. “I hug him really hard and make it all better.” 

 

“Yes,” Lindsay quickly turns her face to the front and blinks, “you do that, Gus. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” She dabs the corners of her eyes, “God, my makeup will run all over my face before we’re even there.” 

 

“Oh please,” I roll my eyes, “we hardly knew the guy. Just because he was Justin’s fucking life-partner, we don’t need to pretend we’re dying from grief.” 

 

“Shut up, asshole,” Mel hisses at me, then sighs when she sees Gus watching her with interest. She ignores it and goes on, “We knew him. Justin and he came once in a while.” I don’t bother to remind them that Justin and his lover had been abroad for the last three years, so we hadn’t Pittsburgh’s pride and joy for a while. I feel like thanking God for it. My mother would be so pleased. Or shocked. But who cares anyway? 

 

“It’s such a tragedy,” Linds agrees, almost making me wanna puke. “He was so talented.” 

 

Right then I manage to find a free space for the car. Killing the ignition, I avoid looking at them, “Here we are. Let’s go and celebrate.” I can almost see them looking at me disapprovingly, shaking their heads. But it’s still better than having them fuss over me. I really can’t stand that. Besides, this isn’t about me. We came here because of Justin. Well, they came … and I just kind of came, too. They think they had to drag me here, which, of course, is bullshit. I’d have come no matter what. But they don’t need to know that. 

 

We meet Debbie, Vic, Michael and his new partner, Carl, in front of the door, they having arrived at the same time. “Hey, Gus,” Debbie smiles at the little boy. “You look good today.” 

 

“I’m going to hug Justin and make him feel all better.” 

 

“Oh,” Deb’s eyes start to water and she presses a trembling hand over her lips, then ruffles my son’s hair, “You’re a good boy, baby.” She sniffles and turns to Lindsay, “And how are you doing today, honey?” 

 

Linds pats her expanded stomach, “I feel just great,” she smiles. “She’s been doing summersaults tonight, but now she’s settled down. Still, I wish we wouldn’t have to wait another four weeks.” 

 

“I’m going to be a big brother soon,” Gus announces proudly, as if he’s just delivered the hottest piece of news to us. 

 

Deb shakes her head, “I still can’t believe you’ve got him to jerk off into a cup again,” she comments, with a side-glance at me. 

 

Linds grins, “What can I say? He simply can’t resist me.” 

 

I snort and am about to say something when the door opens and Jennifer stands in front of us. “Oh,” she exclaims, then without a warning hugs Deb, holding her close for what seems like an eternity. When she pulls back, her face is tear streaked, “I’m so glad you’re here. He’s so … He’s hurting so badly. He hardly speaks to me.” She suppresses a sob, “Or Molly. He … he loved him so much.” 

 

Gag. Now I really want to run. And maybe just take Justin’s hand and pull him with me. I wonder how he’s able to stand this. He must be close to suffocating by now. But experience helps me to keep up an compassionate façade. 

 

Finally Jennifer manages to pull herself together and ushers us into the house, avoiding looking at me even for a second. For a moment I wonder if she’s going to blame me for this as well, even though I can hardly be made responsible for an airplane falling down. I sigh inwardly and follow my friends in to the living-room, where other guests are standing and talking in hushed voices. There’s a table with refreshments in one corner. 

 

I see him the moment we walk in. He’s standing near the full length window, holding a glass of something, talking to a woman with dark hair and eyes, and without a doubt I know it has to be Ethan’s mother. Her face is drawn with grief, her hair combed into a tight bun, and she’s crying silently. My gaze flickers to Gus and I wonder how anyone can stand to bury a child. 

 

“He looks tired.” I turn and find Michael next to me. 

 

“Not really a surprise,” I reply, reaching for a glass of juice. I would die for a shot of whiskey right now, but, of course, this being Jennifer Taylor’s pretty little town house, there’s no alcohol around. 

 

“No,” Mikey agrees. “They were such a beautiful couple. It’s a shame Ethan had to die like this.” 

 

I raise a brow. Since when did Mikey join the ‘Ethan-and-Justin-are-so-perfect-for-each-other’ fanclub? “Like what? He fell from the sky. I think death can be a lot worse.” 

 

He rolls his eyes, “Nothing’s sacred to you. Jesus can’t you be serious for a fucking hour? Justin’s mourning for his partner, for God’s sake.” 

 

Taking a sip from my juice, I turn my eyes back toward Justin. He’s still standing with the grieving mother, but his eyes seem far away, as if he wishes he were anywhere but here. I let my eyes sweep around. A lot of people in – admittedly – expensive clothing, but they all seem superficial, as if it means nothing to them, as if they only came because they had to. Like us. 

 

A man comes up behind Justin, puts a hand on his shoulder and with a slight shock I realize it’s Craig Taylor. I snicker inwardly; it seems the fiddle player was good enough after all. Or maybe Justin’s dad came around, even though I can’t quite believe it. I’ve been eye to eye with the man, have seen the hatred there, and have a hard time believing that something like that would just go away. 

 

“… you came after all.” 

 

Michael’s voice drifts at my ear and I raise a brow at him, “What?” 

 

He sighs, shakes his head, “I said that I think it’s good you came after all. I wonder what Lindsay threatened you with.” 

 

I’m saved from an answer when Carl comes to stand with us, slinging an arm around his lover’s shoulders. Carl is in his late twenties, a lawyer like Mel, blond, tanned, gorgeous green eyes, and completely head over heels with Michael. My best friend just can’t give up on the idea of true love and happily ever after. Even after David and the disaster with Ben, he still believes in all this shit. But Carl is a nice guy and despite everything, I hope it’ll work out for Michael. 

 

“God, this is like a wake,” Carl groans and gives Mikey a peck. 

 

“It is a wake,” Deb joins us. “Sunshine looks like a fucking ghost. The poor kid. To lose his partner like this.” 

 

If I hear this another time I swear I’m going to puke, but I restrain myself from comment. 

 

Deb nudges my arm, “Did you talk to him yet?” 

 

I almost choke on my drink, “Why would I talk to him? I came, didn’t I?” And if I’m going to talk to him, it’s none of your fucking business. 

 

She rolls her eyes, “Almost thirty-five years old and still an asshole. He’s hurting. He needs his friends now,” she gives me the evil eye, “and I’m not going to deny him my support.” With that and a huff for good measure, she walks over to Justin and throws her arms around him. His glass almost slips from his fingers, but his face is still completely impassive during the whole display. I can see the way he forces himself to smile at Deb, to nod and talk to her. But I’d bet my partnership at the firm that something is off here. Something just doesn’t add up. 

 

Justin shows his first real emotion when he spots Gus and bends down to talk to the boy. My son delivers the promised hug. Justin hugs him back, holds him a little longer than necessary. And I decide that’s my clue to step in and talk to him without making this hard for anyone. 

 

“Hey, Gus,” I say casually, strolling over, “You can let go now, or there’ll be nothing left of Justin.” 

 

Gus giggles but pulls back and stares up at us expectantly. He’s never seen us together, at least not since he reached an age where it meant something to him. To him we’re nothing but two men who happen to know each other – and in way I guess it’s exactly what we are. Compared to his long time commitment to Ethan I was nothing but a bypass. 

 

I ignore the hurt the thought causes and sip from my glass. “Hello, Justin.” 

 

He straightens slowly and finally looks at me, his face impassive like mine, showing nothing, hiding everything. He couldn’t do that a few years ago – has learned a lot it seems. For a moment I wonder why, and what caused the change, but then dismiss the thought. It’s not any of my business. 

 

He nods at me, “Brian. I’m glad you could come. This means a lot to me.” 

 

As if I was talking to a fucking robot. How often has he said this shit this afternoon? “Someone had to keep an eye on Gus while the munchers spend all their tears.” 

 

He nods again, his eyes unreadable, then suddenly looks at someone or something behind my left arm. His forehead turns into a quick frown but it’s gone after a moment. “If you’ll excuse me now,” he says, “I need to talk to Greg Hollis. He is … was Ethan’s agent and will give the first speech.” With that he’s gone and I feel a frown of my own at his easy dismissal. 

 

Sure the kid left me for another who gave him love, and roses, and all that shit, but is he really that immune to me now? Blame it on my ego, but I simply can’t believe it. Something’s definitely off here. I watch Justin talk to the Hollis guy, a man in his late forties, big bellied, gray haired. I’d wash my hand after shaking his. Then Gus tugs at my pants and my attention is on him for a while. 

 

* 

 

I leave the room silently, careful not to disturb the eulogies on the wonderful Ethan Gold, and make my way to the kitchen in search for a glass of something stronger than orange juice. I finally mange to find a bottle of twenty year old Brandy and am in the process of pouring a glass when the door behind me opens. Expecting Jennifer Taylor, I brace myself, but to my surprise it’s only her younger version, her familiar blue eyes looking at me with open interest. 

 

“Hi Brian,” Molly pipes up, grinning at me in all her fourteen year old glory. 

 

“Hi,” I reply, not sure what to say to a teenage girl. I did my best to ignore Claire when she was that age. Shit. How am I ever going to live through my daughter’s adolescence? I wonder. I’m sure Lindsay made sure this one would be a girl just to torture me. 

 

I glance warily at the girl, “Shouldn’t you be in the living room with the rest of them?” 

 

She shrugs, opens the fridge and pulls out a piece of cake, she instantly starts to devour. Her mouth full, she says, “I didn’t like Ethan, anyway. He was an arrogant idiot if you ask me.” She shrugs again, “Of course nobody ever did. Mom thought he walked on water. And Justin … he didn’t talk about him at all most of the time.” 

 

“Oh?” I raise my right brow. Maybe the girl and I do have something in common. 

 

“I was glad. As I said, I couldn’t stand him. We went to Rome last year, mom and I – to see one of his concerts.” She rolls her eyes, “He sent the tickets and all. Arranged for the whole thing. And then he couldn’t stop talking about himself. How brilliant he was.” 

 

“I suppose Justin was pretty proud of him,” I comment, and I swear I didn’t want to pry. I’m not interested in Justin’s and Ethan’s life. Not at all. It’s just that … the odd feeling refuses to go away. 

 

Another shrug, “I guess,” she mumbles, stuffing more cake into her mouth. “He didn’t talk a lot. Which is kind of odd, don’t you think?” She tilts her head as if she is scrutinizing me. 

 

Not quite comfortable with her piercing blue eyes, I try to change the subject, “I saw your dad out there. Are he and Justin okay now?” But her words won’t leave me. Justin used to babble like crazy. You could hardly stop him. 

 

“Kind of.” She cleans the crumbs, then licks the fork, “My dad is an asshole, you know.” 

 

I can’t help laughing at her bluntness. Thank God for teenagers. “Uh-huh.” I mean, really, what can I say? 

 

“When Ethan became so famous he suddenly started to ask for Justin. As if having a successful boyfriend would make the whole gay-thing less icky.” 

 

For a moment I freeze, “You think it’s icky?” 

 

“Sure,” she nods emphatically. “I mean, ewww. A boy with a boy? It’s such a waste.” 

 

There’s nothing homophobic in her words, just the honest disgust of a female teenager, and again, I have to laugh. “I don’t think it’s icky.” 

 

She huffs, “Of course not. You’re gay.” She sighs dramatically, “And you’re so good looking. You could be a real stud.” 

 

I have to cough. Should I tell her that I am anyway? Rather not. “Ah … that’s good to know,” I manage, suppressing another laugh. 

 

“The girls in my class would go all crazy over you.” Another dramatic sigh. “I have to go back. Otherwise mom will notice I’m gone, and I’ll never hear the end of it. See you later.” 

 

With that she’s gone and leaves me wondering what the hell is going on here. 

 

* 

 

I get my chance to talk to Justin in private later, when I go up to the bathroom and pass him room in the process. It’s not really his room anymore, but it’s the one he used to live in for a short while. Through the barely open door, I see him standing at the window staring outside, his body rigid and unmoving. 

 

I slowly push the door all the way open, walk inside and close it again. No need for anyone to see us here together. “Justin?” 

 

He tenses the moment he hears my voice, but doesn’t turn, doesn’t say a word. He’s a like a stranger, not like the boy I once met under a street lamp. He looks as if he’s put on a little weight, making his bubble butt even more attractive than before. I bet as soon as he’s on the street again he won’t be able to save himself from horny queers. He’s like a little walking blond bombshell. 

 

“Won’t they be missing you down there?” I ask when the silence between us becomes deafening. 

 

The old Justin would’ve shrugged and this one does it, too, giving me the slight hope that the boy I once knew is still in there somewhere. 

 

“Aren’t you going to tell me how sorry you are?” he says after a moment, his eyes still on the street below. 

 

I scoff, “Hardly. You know I didn’t like your fiddler. I won’t pretend I did by mourning him.” 

 

He takes this in without visible emotion. “So why did you come then?” 

 

“Honestly? I don’t know. Kind of … a group thing I guess.” Of course it’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

 

“Ah,” he nods, and finally turns around, his eyes so blue I have to suck in a sharp breath. “To answer your initial question. I don’t fucking care if they’re missing me down there. They can just go on doing it and fuck themselves.” 

 

My right brow goes up on its own, “Aren’t they … your friends?” 

 

“Ethan’s,” he replies without thinking, “They’re …,” he stops himself, takes a deep breath, “I hardly know them.” 

 

Uh-oh. “His parents are here, too?” I remark casually. 

 

“His mom,” he replies. “His dad died two years ago. His mom is really nice.” For the first time his voice is warm and the one I remember. “She’s got a weak heart and is very fragile. She loved Ethan a lot.” 

 

“You like her.” It’s not a question. 

 

“Yeah,” he confirms. “She’s great. And she … she was always good to me.” 

 

And who was not? The question’s on my tongue but I bite it back. “You’re going to stay in the Pitts now?” 

 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m going to paint for a while. My mom found a studio for me – not far away from college.” 

 

“I was a bit surprised that you quit PIFA to go with Ethan.” It’s the biggest understatement ever. It floored me to hear he quit. He worked so hard to get in. And then he just quit and left the country with his lover. 

 

He shrugs, “Europe was great. I saw a lot of art. Learned a lot. PIFA could never give me that.” 

 

“I suppose.” I’m not convinced. And again I have the feeling something just isn’t right. I stroll to the window, look down on the street. The new jeep looks like an outsider between all the expensive European cars. “If you … I mean … if you ever want to talk,” I break off, clear my throat. “I still live at the loft.” 

 

He’s silent and when I turn back to him, I’m surprised to see a smile hovering around his lips. “Is this an invitation? I’m a little rusty understanding Kinney-ish.” 

 

The eyebrow goes up again, “Kinney-ish?” 

 

“It’s your own special kind of language. A little hard to understand sometimes.” 

 

“Yes, it’s a fucking invitation.” I’m not going to analyze why I’m doing this at all. I must be insane. “So if you wanna come around – just give me a call.” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

Okay? No, yes, I will? I suppose one has to live with little favors these days. After all I’m almost thirty-five and he’s not even close to twenty-five. Life is simply not fair. “Fine,” I nod, then walk to the door, pause, “Listen. I didn’t particularly like Evan. But I’m still,” and I almost choke on the word, “sorry he died.” 

 

I’m about to leave when he suddenly says something and I stop dead in my tracks. I must have problems with my ears because I could’ve sworn he said … “What did you just say?” I look at him and he stares right back, hiding nothing for the first time. 

 

“I said,” he replies, “Don’t. Don’t be sorry, Brian.” 

 

Feeling uncomfortable, I rub a palm over my face, wondering if I should’ve shaved again, “I know I once said sorry was bullshit, I admit that, but-“ 

 

“I’m not.” 

 

Jesus Fucking Christ! “You’re what?” 

 

He looks me straight in the eye, “I’m not,” he repeats. “I’m not sorry he died. In fact, I’m so fucking happy, I want to dance.” 

 

O-kay. Definitely something very odd. “Can I have that in writing?” 

 

He chuckles, but it’s forced. “On tape if you want,” he says. 

 

Rubbing my nape, I lean against the doorway, an ugly feeling suddenly settling in the pit of my stomach. “Why are you happy? What did he do to you, Justin?” And I feel such rage when I see him flinch, I wish Ethan Gold was still alive and I could beat him into a bloody pulp. 

 

“Justin?” 

 

But before he has a chance to answer a voice drifts to us from the outside, “Justin, honey? Are you in there?” 

 

“Fuck!” he bites out between clenched teeth, but then in front of my eyes he transforms back into the grieving partner, the dutiful son and host. “Yes, mom. I’ll be down in a moment.” 

 

“It’s okay,” she replies, and I’m glad I’m leaning against the door so she can’t come in. “Take your time, sweetheart. We all understand how hard this is for you.” I hear her descend the stairs once again and all I can think is that the woman is his mother and has no clue. 

 

“Justin-,” I look up at him, to repeat my question but the words die on my tongue. If ever a person was unapproachable, it’s Justin. 

 

“I really need to go back,” he says, his eyes on the door, not on me. “They’re waiting for me.” 

 

My first impulse is to force him to stay, to talk, but fuck, we haven’t seen each other for years. I don’t even know him anymore. Only that I’m slowly getting the impression that I still know him a lot better than all his fucking friends and his so-called family. But I know that this is the wrong moment to push. With all the guests down there and all his walls up. They’re invisible to most, but to me they’re crystal clear. I have a very intimate relationship with them after all. Never thought to see them around Justin though. 

 

Again I want to hurt Ethan Gold. Badly. 

 

I look back at Justin, at his blank blue eyes, staring straight ahead, completely void of emotion, and step away from the door, “Sure.” 

 

For a moment his gaze flickers to mine, but then he reaches for the knob. Then he nods, “Thanks for coming, Brian.” 

 

I’m not sure what to say so I just watch him walk to the stairs. “Justin?” 

 

He stops but doesn’t turn. 

 

“The offer … you know the one about coming to the loft to talk?” 

 

His head turns, the look in his eyes clearly telling me that he doesn’t hold me to it – and it hurts like nothing else has the last three years. Does he really expect so little from me? 

 

I push the pain away, concentrate on why I made the offer in the first place, “I just wanted to say – it still stands.” 

 

For a moment it seems as if he doesn’t understand the words, but then he nods and again his lips curve into something one could misinterpret for a smile. “Later,” he says and is gone. 

 

I lean back against the doorway, and close my eyes, finally giving up the tough front I tried so hard to keep up in his presence. But I instinctively know that pity would be the last thing he’d want from me. The problem is, I have no fucking idea what he wants, or if I’m even able to give it to him. After all, I’m the one he left because I wasn’t enough in the first place. 

 

“Later,” I whisper to the empty hallway, then pull myself together and follow him down the stairs.


	2. Charade

“So what will it be, boys?” 

 

Deb stands next to our booth, wearing the ever present red wig, the too bright clothes, pen poised over the note-pad, and for what has to be the umpteenth time I wonder why I’m still doing this to myself. I’m almost thirty-five, partner in the most successful ad-company in Pittsburgh, my annual income far above the average, and here I am, sitting in the diner, eating food I wouldn’t touch under any other circumstances. 

 

“Two eggs over easy, toast, coffee,” Michael announces, as if we all didn’t know it already. His boyfriend grins his million watt, blond, blue-eye grin beside him and winks at Debbie, who blushes. He can fluster her almost as much as I. “Just cereal for me. Otherwise I’m going to get fat.” 

 

She shoots him an incredulous look, “Should I start to worry?” It’s interesting, really. As much as she loved Ben, I think Carl is the son-in-law she always wanted. And I have a feeling she’s going to do whatever she can so he’ll stay with Michael. 

 

“Worry?” Ted, as always, doesn’t get it. He might earn a fortune – I grudgingly have to accept it’s even more than I make – but he’s still as clueless as ever when it comes to … certain things. He sitting here at the diner is the sorriest case of us all. I mean, the guy’s almost forty. And he still hasn’t got a clue what to do with his life. Well, besides his porn business of course. But he’s still looking for that special someone. And thinks he can find him at Babylon. 

 

I look up at Deb. “Stop worrying,” I tell her, “can’t you see they’re still as disgustingly happy as ever? I’d rather get my breakfast, before the whole lovey-dovey thing affects my appetite.” 

 

“You’re right,” Ted agrees, “it’s positively nauseating.” 

 

“That’s only because you haven’t got someone to do the,” Carl grins at me, “lovey-dovey thing with.” 

 

Mikey grins as well, “It’s not as if you ever ate much to begin with.” 

 

“Well,” Emmett’s eyes sparkle with mischief, “when you reach a certain age, you easily add pounds.” He pauses, then adds, “Right, Brian?” 

 

I roll my eyes, “Yeah, well, at least pounds can be hidden up to a certain point, while bad taste in clothing …,” I trail off, loving the way his eyes flash at me good-naturedly. It’s strange, really, how much I’ve come to appreciate Emmett. Beneath his fancy clothes and his sometimes slutty behavior there’s a depth I’m only now starting to discover. For a while we almost lost Ted and Emmett, due to their doomed affair. After the breakup they tried to avoid each other, expecting us to take sides. But fortunately it’s over and done with and the friendship between the ex-lovers seems better than ever. 

 

The good-natured bantering continues until Deb comes back with the first load of orders. “Okay, boys. Here’s your food. Anyone of you been to see Sunshine?” 

 

I bite back the ‘why, is something wrong?’ at the very last minute and manage a casual shrug. “We saw him a few days ago. Why?” 

 

Debbie narrows her eyes at me, “You could be a little more understanding, but that would assume you have a heart in the first place.” 

 

“So, what’s wrong with Justin?” Emmett asks, with real concern in his voice. He never has problems showing his feelings. I could never be like him. And I’m not sure I would want to. 

 

She shrugs, “Nothing, it’s been almost a week and I thought it’d be nice for him to see his friends in difficult times like these. He must be feeling so alone.” She sniffs, dabs her eyes with her free hand, “Poor Sunshine.” 

 

I want to tell her she can just stuff her pity, when my cell rings. “Yeah?” I see them all looking at me, and try my best to keep my face expressionless. They don’t need to know 

 

“Hey.” 

 

“How are you?” While I wait for him to answer, I smile at my friends and, as expected, they dismiss the call and go on with their conversation. 

 

“Not bad,” Justin replies. “You?” 

 

“The same.” I can hear the uncertainty in his voice and I wish I were anywhere but here, so I could speak openly. But the last thing I want right now is for my friends to buzz in and give their opinion on things they don’t understand. I’m not sure Justin’s ready to deal with it. Hell, I’m not ready to deal with it. 

 

“So, why did you call?” 

 

“I was thinking about that offer of yours,” he replies. “You know, to come over and talk.” 

 

Once again I have to fight to keep my face neutral, “Yeah.” 

 

“Is it still open?” 

 

Have I really been such a shit that he’s still doubting me? “Sure.” 

 

“You busy tonight?” 

 

“Not particularly, no. How about eight?” 

 

I see the others perk up, several pairs of eyes turning to me. 

 

“Eight is fine. You wanna eat something special? I could cook.” 

 

I have to smile. It’s been a long time since I ate something cooked by Justin Taylor. “That’d be nice.” 

 

I hear him laugh softly, and feel a warm, almost forgotten breeze in my gut. “You still look skinny. Time to fatten you up. See you at eight.” 

 

“Yeah,” I tell him. “See ya.” 

 

Stuffing the phone back into my pocket, I see the others still watching me. Deliberately ignoring them, I pick up my fork and start eating the scrambled egg. When they’re still looking at me, I sigh, “What?” 

 

“Was this about … a date?” Mikey’s eyes are wide with shock. 

 

Chewing my food, I chuckle, “It’s not as if this is a first. I make appointments all day.” 

 

“Appointments, yes,” Ted leans back, scrutinizing me as if I were a lab rat. “Dates … and Brian .. they just don’t mix.” 

 

I shake my head, “Appointments, dates. What’s the difference?” 

 

Emmett sighs dramatically, “Only Brian Kinney can ask such a question. Brian, honey, an appointment is … well, an appointment, and a date…” 

 

“Are you going to tell me now that a date is a date?” I shovel the rest of my egg on my fork. 

 

He beams, “Exactly. It’s … private. Something … nice. While an appointment, well, I’ve heard of appointments that were at least tolerable, but a date,” he winks, “if it goes well it ends with a nice romp between the sheets.” 

 

“I never had a problem with that,” I tell him, swallowing my last bite. 

 

“Very true,” Michael nods and gulps down his coffee. “I suppose your appointments and dates end the same way – wait, you never had a date as far as I know.” 

 

“He did,” Ted reminds him. “Remember when he was with Justin? They had their date nights.” 

 

“Speaking about Justin,” Emmett turns his gaze to me, and I struggle to once again keep mine neutral. 

 

“Yes?” I raise a brow. “You wanted to say?” 

 

He studies my face for a moment, then sighs, “Nothing. Just a little good old fashioned romantic dreaming.” 

 

I get up, throw a few bills on the table, “Well, dream on, guys. Some people have to work. I have an …,” I push my tongue into my cheek, “appointment in half an hour. See ya.” 

 

With that I’m gone, certain they don’t even guess what’s going on. They just don’t get me. They never did. 

 

******* 

 

Cynthia is not herself all morning, driving me crazy with her absentmindedness. She almost forgets the first appointment – something that’s never happened before -, then doesn’t bring my coffee. I’m about to shout at her, when I suddenly notice the ring on her finger. 

 

I raise a brow, “So the guy finally did it.” 

 

She looks at me, confused for a whole second, flustered for another, before her mouth turns into a brilliant smile. “He gave it to me this morning.” I’ve always wondered how a mere piece of jewelry can turn a smart woman into a grinning fool. 

 

But I can see how important it is for her, and once in a while even I can be a good sport. “So when’s the date?” I almost wince at the word. 

 

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” she replies on a happy sigh. It’s even more nauseating than watching Mikey and Carl. “But it was so romantic.” 

 

“Oh please, I’m gonna puke any moment now,” I roll my eyes for good measure, but of course she doesn’t buy it. She knows me far too well. Seems that’s a trait in the women surrounding me. 

 

Instead, her grin still firmly in place, she puts a hand on her hip, “So, how about you?” 

 

I deliberately pretend to misunderstand, “I’m not going to propose to you any time soon.” 

 

“Duh,” she shakes her head. “But you’re almost thirty-five, shouldn’t you, I dunno, settle down or something?” 

 

Why the fuck does everyone feel inclined to remind me of my upcoming birthday these days? It’s even worse than before I became thirty. Tongue in cheek, I smirk, “I’d go for ‘or something’.” 

 

“It’s so sad. You realize how sad it is, right?” 

 

“What?” I shake my head. “Now that you’ve got that rock on your finger you’re suddenly the expert?” 

 

“At least *I* have a rock on my finger,” she reminds me. 

 

“Oh please,” I mock her voice. “As if I’d want one. You wanna ruin my day?” 

 

“Talking about your day – didn’t you attend some funeral a while ago?” 

 

Rummaging through papers on my desk, I don’t look up, “It was a wake. The funeral was in Europe some weeks ago.” 

 

When she says nothing, I finally raise my head, find her smirking. “What?” 

 

“So how is little Justin? All grown up now?” 

 

“He’s … okay,” I grumble, forcing my eyes back on the files. 

 

“And single. And in mourning.” 

 

“He’s too young for me,” I tell her, hoping to get her off my back that way. 

 

Of course, this is Cynthia, and she never did what I expected her to do. “Never bothered you before.” 

 

I don’t comment. She doesn’t know me either. Not where it counts, anyway. Of course it bothered me. All the time. Come on, Justin was seventeen when we met. His whole life was before him. Mine … I have no idea where mine was. But I was almost thirty. I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t bothered by it. Okay, yes, some people might doubt I am. Human, that is. But I am – and it bothered me. Still does. 

 

“Does he still look cute?” 

 

My right brow goes up again, “You thought he was cute?” 

 

“Sure,” she grins broadly. “Cute like a button. And all that blond hair. Don’t tell me it wasn’t what you noticed first.” 

 

Actually, the first thing I saw was how hot he looked. And there was this expression in his eyes. This hunger. This innocence. And I had to have him. Had to make sure that he wouldn’t waste it on someone who didn’t know what it meant. And yeah, I might have been accused of having an overblown ego at times, but I wanted his first time to be something to remember. I knew I could give it to him. That’s what I wanted. I never intended for it to turn out the way it did. 

 

I sigh, giving up all pretense, “He’s hot. I give you that.” I smile slightly. He still looks hot. And, God, his eyes are so blue, it blinds you. 

 

She grins, “Gonna see him again?” 

 

“If I ever get this stuff done,” I grumble and her grin widens. Nailing her with my eyes, I give her a hard look, “This stays between you and me. No chatting with Mikey – or anyone. Is that clear?” 

 

She salutes mockingly, “Aye, aye, boss. I can keep a secret. You of all people should know that.” She turns, gives me a little wave, the ring on her finger sparkling in the light. In the door she pauses, “I want an update,” she grins again, “and soon.” Then she’s gone, and I realize that there’s still no fucking coffee on my desk. 

 

******* 

 

I pull on my jeans when I hear the buzzer. Leaving the top button open, I walk over to let Justin into the building, then pull back the door, and walk back into the bedroom to find a shirt. I choose the black wife-beater, telling myself it has nothing to do with the fact that Justin used to like it a lot. 

 

When I return into the main area, I see him standing in the door, and for a moment I’m transported back in time, to a day when he stood there, uncertain of his welcome, his eyes still bright and eager, but so fucking terrified, for a moment I wondered if I could to it. But then he walked inside, and I knew I had to have him. God, how I wanted him. 

 

He smiles tentatively and I snap back to the present. “Hey,” I return his smile and walk into the kitchen. “You want a drink?” 

 

“A beer,” he replies, carrying a heavy bag to the counter. Placing it on top, he takes the bottle from me, “I didn’t forget about dinner. I decided to bring something that’s quick and tasty.” 

 

Grinning slightly I raise a brow, “Sounds promising.” 

 

“I found this recipe in Italy. It’s very healthy, too. Only a minimum of fat.” 

 

I chuckle, “You remember that, huh?” 

 

He nods, “No fat after seven. How could I forget?” 

 

He unloads the bag and starts chopping vegetables, while I climb on a stool and watch, sipping from my beer once in a while. His stands – untouched so far – on the counter. 

 

“So,” he begins, his eyes on his work, “How are you? I mean, you look good. But how’s work?” 

 

“Good,” I reply, wondering if he really doesn’t know it, trying not to feel disappointed at that. I somehow expected him to at least keep track of my life. That’s what I did regarding him, after all. “Vance is still an asshole, I’m still brilliant. Nothing new.” 

 

He chuckles, unpacking some fish, “What about Cynthia?” 

 

I roll my eyes, and realizing he’s can’t see it, I add a sigh for dramatic purposes, “She’s getting married.” 

 

Justin glances at me over his shoulder, a grin on his face that reminds me so much of his younger version, I feel a painful clenching of my gut. “No shit!” he exclaims. 

 

“She’s wearing a rock on her finger for the whole world to see.” I empty my bottle, then walk to the fridge for another one. Watching Justin peel potatoes I find myself momentarily mesmerized by his strong hands, remembering the way they used to touch me, pleasure me. 

 

Taking a deep breath, I shake off the stupid thoughts, open the bottle and walk back to my stool. “How’s the art?” 

 

Instantly he tenses up, but then visibly tries to relax, concentrating on the task at hand, and his voice is cool, giving away nothing. “I … didn’t do a lot for a while. But,” and instantly his voice changes, a trace of real excitement invading it, “I can hardly wait to buy stuff for the new studio Mom’s found. It’s great. You wanna come and …,” he trails off, not finishing his question. 

 

Fuck, I really was a shit. Had to be one, if he doubts me at every turn. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth, “I’d like to see it.” 

 

He says nothing for a moment, then, “You don’t have to be nice to me, Brian.” 

 

Feeling anger rising, I put the bottle down, round the counter to stand beside him. “I’m not into pity. You should know that.” 

 

He continues peeling the potato he holds, takes a breath and finally nods, “Sorry. I … I didn’t mean it that way.” 

 

“Yeah, you did,” I reply. “Stop apologizing. I already told you, sorry’s bullshit.” And then – I have no fucking idea what made me say it – I add, “And I’m not the fiddler.” 

 

For a moment I actually wonder if he’s going to pass out. The knife falls down with a clatter, his hands trembling visibly, and he turns white like a sheet. 

 

Instinctively I reach out, “Justin.” 

 

But he flinches, steps away, avoiding my touch, his eyes cast to the ground. “Wh-why did you say that?” I see him swallow, desperately trying to collect himself. 

 

I wonder if I should say something stupid, but then decide it’s not my style, and that he wouldn’t believe it anyway. “Come on. The last thing you told me was that you’re happy that your partner of the last four years died. What am I supposed to think?” 

 

“N-nothing.” He swallows again, combs a shaky hand through his hair. 

 

“Nothing?” I scoff. 

 

“It’s n-not what you think,” he insists, picking up the knife again to finish his preparations. 

 

I raise a brow, “It isn’t?” 

 

He takes a deep breath, “He didn’t hit me or anything.” 

 

I feel bile rise in my throat, the ugly suspicion I had a week ago returning full force. His denial is just too quick, too rehearsed – as if he’s been practicing it for years. 

 

“I never said he did,” I say softly, trying to keep this light. Why did I even start this shit? Oh right, I told him he could come around to talk. And then there’s the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about the little scene in his old room. 

 

Justin places the fish in a skillet, then covers it with the vegetables. “We were happy. For a long time we were really happy.” 

 

I nod, more to myself, “That’s good to hear. It’s what I wanted for you. I couldn’t give you that.” I see him give me a startled look, and continue. “But,” and he tenses up again, “it would sound a lot more convincing if you weren’t still shaking like a leaf.” 

 

He frowns, takes several deep breaths and his hands seem more steady, “I’m not shaking. You just took me by surprise.” 

 

“Uh-huh,” I sigh. This leads nowhere. I can see his walls all up high. I need another strategy, “So, what are you going to poison me with?” 

 

I can see the tension leaving his body, and a smile returns to his lips, “It’s a regional recipe from Tuscany. You’re gonna love it.” 

 

“What’s it called?” I lean against the fridge, hoping to keep him relaxed for a while. 

 

“It’s got no name. An old woman I met in Pisa gave it to me.” He smiles at the memory and I feel my cock stir. Fuck! Just what we need right now. Besides – I’m definitely not gonna fuck him – now. 

 

Feeling the urge to move, preferably far away from temptation, I take two glasses from the cupboard, a bottle of white wine from the fridge and take them over to the table. “Leave it to you to talk about food,” I joke and am glad when he laughs, even though I also feel a little sad at the sound. It used to be cheerful, bright, now it sounds subdued, as if he hasn’t used it for a while. 

 

“It only needs twenty minutes.” He adds what looks like herbs then covers the skillet. “And it’s the perfect food for someone like you.” 

 

I raise a brow, “Oh?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” he grins, once again reminding me of the blue-eyed teenager who turned my life upside down for two years. “Low fat, high fiber, quickly done. Perfect.” 

 

*** 

 

“You’re right,” I tell him half an hour later. “It’s perfect.” And it is. It’s the best I’ve eaten in my own home since he left. I fucked the chef of an expensive restaurant three years ago, and his food was nothing compared to this. 

 

He beams, “I’ll tell Luciana. That’s the woman in Pisa.” 

 

I grin, “On first name terms already?” 

 

“She’s like my own grandmother – you’d like her, too. She’s so sweet and she …,” he trails off, a shadow flickering through his eyes, and he averts them quickly. Not looking at me, he takes his plate, “Want some more?” 

 

“No, thanks.” 

 

He nods, takes mine as well and carries them back to the kitchen. Sighing inwardly, I stand as well and follow him, “Justin.” 

 

“I’ll just put them into the dishwasher,” he tells me over his shoulder. 

 

I stop, looking at his back, “Justin,” I repeat quietly. 

 

He freezes, with the plates still in his hands. “Please,” he whispers. “Don’t.” Slowly he puts the plates down, his hands grabbing the edge of the counter. “Please don’t ask.” 

 

Keeping my voice light, I say gently, “You said you wanted to talk. I’m not going to force you, Justin. Hell, we haven’t seen each other for over three years, didn’t talk a lot for four. I know I have no right-“ 

 

“He … slapped me,” he interrupts. “Once. “It’s funny, really. And he was sorry. Brought me flowers. Apologized. And for a year we were happy – well, sort of.” 

 

Feeling sick all over again, I ask, “What happened?” 

 

He shrugs, the knuckles of his hands turning white, “His dad died. And he became mean.” He shakes his head, lets go of the counter, and walks to the window, passing me without looking up. His face on the street, he says, “I once read about this woman. Her husband beat her and she stayed with him for twenty fucking years. I thought, is she fucking crazy? I’d run as fast as I could.” He laughs bitterly, “But I didn’t.” 

 

I feel nauseous and something else I can’t name. My knees weak, I feel my forehead starting to sweat. “Justin? What exactly did he do to you?” I wonder if it’s a strange perversion that I want him to put it into words even though I already know. 

 

“What didn’t he?” he asks right back. “It’s not really important. The important part is that I stayed at first. I told myself it was because of his mom. Because she was so happy we were together. But now I wonder. Maybe I was too weak.” 

 

“That’s bullshit. You’re strong. You bounced back after the bashing. You left me.” I don’t know why I have to add that. But besides all the pain, I think it was pretty tough to just turn his back on me. 

 

“Am I, really?” He runs a hand through his hair. 

 

“And nobody ever noticed?” I wonder if they’re all dense or if they deliberately looked the other way. When my father hit me nobody ever asked, nobody ever cared. But maybe that’s why I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the living-room. 

 

“He was careful. After the first slap he never hit me in the face. And I was … unable to shake him off. To just turn around and … go back home.” 

 

“You didn’t want to fail again,” I say, suddenly realizing the source of the problem. 

 

He shrugs, “Maybe. But after …,” he swallows, “I finally decided it was enough. He told me if I left him he’d ruin my mother.” 

 

Feeling as if I were going to suffocate, I hardly manage to ask, “What?” 

 

He laughs unhappily, “That’s what I wanted to know, too. I found out that he’d given her money to expand her business. He was earning a lot of money by then. Became more and more successful. Everyone loved him. He couldn’t bear the idea that I would leave him, maybe even tell what was really going on.” 

 

“So he … blackmailed you?” I still have problems wrapping my mind around the concept. But it fits. If there’s one thing Justin will sacrifice his own happiness for, it’s his family. He was ready to go to Dartmouth to save his parents’ marriage after all. 

 

“He never … made it clear. But I knew he meant it. Ethan had a way of … looking at me.” I see him shiver and have the sudden urge to take him in my arms, keep him there and protect him from all evil. I’ve never been more glad to know that Ethan Gold is history. Otherwise I might be tempted to risk a life sentence. 

 

When I don’t say anything, he turns and looks at me, the expression in his eyes stabbing me like a knife. “No comments?” 

 

“I…,” I gesture with my hand, completely feeling at loss, blowing out a long breath. 

 

“What? You’re not gonna try to fuck me better?” 

 

I smile at him sadly, “I would if I thought it’d help. But I think right now it’s the worst I could do.” 

 

Justin gives me a sarcastic sneer, “Wow, that’s got to be a first. You think there’s another way to solve a problem?” 

 

I have not the slightest idea how to deal with him. I can almost touch the pain radiating from him, even if he does a pretty good job hiding it behind sarcasm. I feel sadness sweep over me, thinking of the boy he once was, the guy who simply wouldn’t leave. “I suppose I deserved that.” I walk to the table, then turn and look at him. He’s still standing at the window, looking as if he belongs, as if he’s never left, as if the last four years didn’t exist. 

 

“You want another drink?” I hold up the wine. 

 

He looks over his shoulder and shakes his head. “No thanks. Brian … I’m sorry for …” 

 

“No,” I interrupt him, pouring a glass for myself. “I did, on occasion,” I smile at his snort, “use sex to avoid talking about problems. But I’m not the insensitive shit you seem to think I am. At least not always. I saw that something was wrong at the wake. And even if I hadn’t, it’s not the norm to hear the grieving widow saying she’s happy enough to dance.” 

 

That gets a chuckle out of him even though it’s mixed with a suppressed sob. “No, I suppose it’s not something you usually see.” He runs a hand through his hair, “Do you realize we never talked this much when we were still together?” 

 

I put the glass down, and walk up behind him, “I know,” I whisper in his ear, suddenly needing to be close. 

 

He shivers, but this time I know it’s got nothing to do with what Ethan did to him. It’s the same reaction I feel in my gut at being near to him after four long years. I’ve always been sexually attracted to him, and it hasn’t changed. It probably never will. 

 

“You still smell like honey and sun,” I whisper, ignoring the little voice in my head telling me that this isn’t the way to go. He just told me about his time with Ethan and I’m trying my best to seduce him. 

 

But he startles me, when he suddenly turns around, wraps his arms around my neck and attacks my mouth. 

 

I hesitate only for a moment before I respond to his touch, pulling him close, deepening the kiss from my end. I hear him moan, molding his body against mine, sucking my tongue into his mouth like someone who’s starving. 

 

We’re breathing heavily when we part, stare into each others eyes, dark with passion and longing. 

 

“I-“ 

 

“You-“ 

 

We laugh slightly, having spoken at the same time. 

 

I trace the line of his cheekbone, realizing with fascination that my hand is trembling. I can’t remember another man who’s ever affected me that way. “I want to fuck you,” I whisper, my mouth dry. I take his hand and place it over my rock hard erection. 

 

His pupils widen, his eyes turning incredibly dark. “I want it, too,” he replies, licking his lips. 

 

Not waiting for him to say another word, I push him against the window, start sucking at his ear, smiling when he moans loudly, when I feel his hands roam over my back. I’m on fire, and Justin’s the only remedy for it. 

 

I let my mouth trail over the side of his neck, to his shoulder. Pulling his shirt aside, not caring that I’m ripping his buttons, I kiss his chest, wondering for a moment if he still wears the nipple-ring, and already anticipating using it for his pleasure, when my tongue suddenly traces something that hasn’t been there before. 

 

Lifting my head, I try to get a look of what my lips have encountered, and freeze. Unable to understand what’s right before my eyes, I stare in horror at Justin’s chest and the scars surrounding both his nipples. A second later my gaze flies to his. His eyes are still closed, his mouth turned into a half-smile. 

 

He finally realizes I’ve stopped my ministrations and slowly his lashes lift. “Brian?” he murmurs, blinking at me. 

 

I shake my head, but the meaning of the scars still holds me frozen, unable to say a word. I can only stare at his face, at his chest, then once again at his face. 

 

And he understands. I can see it in his eyes, where the passion vanishes as if it’s never existed. Instead I see pain – and to my utter horror – shame. He quickly looks away and I want to reach out and tell him that there’s no reason for it. 

 

But I can’t. I’m still frozen in place, frozen in shock at my discovery. 

 

In a daze I see him stumble backwards, see him reach for his jacket. I want to call out for him, but my voice doesn’t obey. I want to run after him, but my feet are like lead, my mind still refusing to understand what my eyes have seen so clearly. I only snap out of it when I hear his footsteps on the stairs, quickly descending. 

 

But instead of following him I race to the bathroom. 

 

I convulse violently and lose my dinner. Afterwards, my stomach empty, I still feel sick, my breathing is ragged, sweat drenches my whole body, and I can’t stop the trembling that’s seizing me. 

 

All I can think of is Justin. And the scars on his chest. The scars that make me wish that my mother were right, that there is a Hell, and that Ethan Gold would burn in it for a very long time.


	3. Charade

Not having slept the entire night, I need a whole hour in the bathroom to make myself at least presentable. I need another ten minutes to compose myself enough so that my friends won’t see that something’s wrong. The last thing I want right now is a round of questioning by one of them. Especially while I’m still trying to figure out the answers myself. The only thing I know without a doubt is that I have to talk to Justin – soon. Which means I have to get around Jennifer. Fuck! 

 

“Kiddo, you look like shit. Had a hard night?” 

 

It’s always been nearly impossible to keep up appearances around Debbie. So I use the fluster-defense, bend over and peck her on the cheek. “You look simply wonderful this morning.” 

 

 

“Asshole,” she grumbles, but I can see a part of her is delighted. “What’ll it be?” 

 

“Just coffee,” I reply, slumping on a stool at the counter. “A lot of coffee.” 

 

She chuckles, “You need to eat something, Brian. At your age-“ 

 

I groan. “Why do all my friends think it’s funny to remind me of my upcoming birthday?” 

 

She grins, while she pours me a cup of black life-saver and shoves the sugar my way. “One would think that you’re over the whole ‘I’m going to stay young and beautiful shit’ by now.” 

 

Grateful I take the cup from her and sip, then breathe deeply when I feel the warmth infuse my system, a system that went cold when my eyes saw what they couldn’t believe. I don’t know if it’s imagination, but I can almost feel the caffeine flow through my veins, giving me energy I thought I’d lost forever at the sight of scars that are proof of things I wish I could erase, not only from Justin’s skin, but from his life. Scars that I know, firsthand, are a lot deeper than what you can see on the surface. 

 

Remembering Deb standing on the other side of the counter, I shake my head, “I’m always going to be young and beautiful.” 

 

“Dream on,” she snorts, before her face suddenly lights up. Which tells me that Michael must have entered the diner, or Carl, or both. It’s kind of funny actually that Mikey now dates a man who shares the name with another who Debbie dated for a short while. Carl Horvath, for all his homophobic tendencies, was actually a good guy. Too bad he and Debbie didn’t work out in the end. I’ve never found out what really happened. But one day he was gone and never came back. 

 

“Morning,” Michael climbs onto the stool beside me, while Carl chooses the one next to him. “You look like shit.” 

 

Sometimes I wonder if mother and son share more than just the name of their boyfriend. “So I’ve been told,” I mumble around another sip of coffee and Debbie cackles. 

 

“Had a hard night?” 

 

And maybe it evens infects boyfriends. I glance at Carl, “Had better.” 

 

“How was your date?” 

 

I feel my stomach churn at Mikey’s innocent question. He grins at me, having no idea what happened. He hasn’t seen the scars, hasn’t seen the pain and shame in Justin’s eyes. Doesn’t have to wish he’d acted differently. Fuck! I rub my nape. How I wish I could turn back time, and instead of freaking out myself, just take him in my arms and tell him that it doesn’t matter. 

 

But Fuck! 

 

It does matter. How can I pretend it doesn’t? 

 

Once again forcing myself away from the images forever engraved in my mind, I turn my head towards Deb, “Could I have more coffee, please?” Then I look at Mikey, “It wasn’t a date. And if you need to know it, I spent the night alone.” At least without another person. But all my demons kept me company, whispering, torturing. Telling me that this is my fault. That if I hadn’t been such a shitty boyfriend, such an uncaring asshole, Justin wouldn’t have fallen for Ethan in the first place. 

 

“Wow – are you going for some kind of record?” Deb asks as she pours more coffee. She smiles, but I see concern in her eyes, asking me without words, ‘is something wrong’? 

 

I look at her lazily through half-lowered lids, “People my age need to preserve their strength.” 

 

She chuckles, playfully slapping me over the head. “I should’ve known that you’d find a way to use even that to your advantage.” 

 

“Nobody can party every night,” Michael comes to my rescue. My hero – always willing to find excuses for whatever I do. In his eyes there’s nothing I can do wrong. He even managed to blame Justin for our breakup, conveniently forgetting all my shortcomings. I’m not saying it was all my fault. Not by a long shot. I even agree with Michael that Justin cheated on me. I mean, he did see Ethan behind my back, going against every single rule he’d made up. But had I been a little more attentive I’d have noticed what was happening to him, that he wanted things I wasn’t willing to give. 

 

I see Mikey smile at me and smile back. For all he went through with Ben, he’s still such a kid. Even now, happy with Carl, I sometimes find him looking at me in that special way that tells me he’s still silently hoping. I wonder if I should say something, if I should just shake him and yell at him that he and I are never going to happen. But a part of me always holds me back, afraid that if I take his dream away it’ll be the end of our friendship. 

 

“And you,” I gulp down the rest of my coffee. “Had a hot night?” 

 

***** 

 

I finally manage to get away from the office around two and even though my gut is a whole, single, big knot at the thought of facing Justin, I go directly to the Taylor residence. Work was bad enough, my ideas this morning worse than Bob’s and Brad’s used to be. But my heart just wasn’t in it. How could it be when all I’m able to think about is the scars and the expression in Justin’s eyes when he looked at me last night. 

 

Jennifer opens the door and I force a smile on my face, stifling a groan at the same time. The last thing I want to deal with right now is Justin’s mom. The woman never liked me. And I have a feeling she likes me even less now. 

 

The way her eyes narrow and her lips turn into not quite a smile assure me that I’m right. “Brian?” 

 

“Hello, Mrs. Taylor. I came to see Justin. Is he home?” It feels ridiculous asking the mother of a twenty-three year old if her son is at home. But Jennifer always made me feel a little ridiculous. It’s not that she’s intimidating in any way. Maybe it’s just the mom-vibe radiating from her, this fierce protectiveness regarding her young. Growing up in the Kinney-household didn’t particularly acquaint you to that kind of vibe. 

 

For a moment she seems to examine me through her half-lowered lids, then – to my surprise – she steps back, inviting me in. She leads me into the family room and like the good lady of the house offers me a drink. 

 

I decline, my stomach not comfortable with the idea of receiving anything whatsoever. She nods, then tilts her head. “I was … surprised to see you at the wake last week,” she starts a forced conversation. 

 

Oh yes, I can believe that. She certainly never expected me to come. Probably wished I was dead by now. The horrible molester who took her precious son away. The old pervert Justin trusted more than his beloved mom. I’m sure that one still stings deep inside. 

 

I walk over to the doors leading into a well kept garden, “Why? Because it was Ethan Justin and I split up over?” 

 

She is silent for a moment and without actually seeing her I can see how uncomfortable she is with the subject. Finally she says, “You hardly knew Ethan. He was … such a wonderful person. Exactly what I always wanted for Justin.” 

 

Saying that I wasn’t. 

 

I bite my tongue the very last moment. She hasn’t the slightest idea what really went on between her son and the ‘wonderful Ethan’. Justin certainly hasn’t told her what he had to endure because of the money his lover lent his mother. 

 

“He,” she continues and walks over to me, “and Justin were such a beautiful couple.” I see she’s holding something in her right hand. A picture, showing Justin and Ethan at some reception, both smiling. Justin’s eyes are that incredible blue, and he looks beautiful. 

 

“When…,” I have to clear my throat. “When was this made?” 

 

She smiles, looking at the picture, “A year ago. Ethan had his breakthrough in Spain. He sent me all the articles singing his praise.” 

 

And you didn’t even wonder why it wasn’t Justin sending them? I stifle a snort the very last moment. “Nice,” I manage instead. 

 

“Yes,” she agrees and tucks the picture back into a folder lying on the table. I hear her taking a deep breath, “Brian. Why are you here?” 

 

I turn around, look at her for a long moment. “Frankly, I think that’s none of your business,” I say softly. I know it’s not a very polite way to talk to the mother of my ex-lover, but damn, it wasn’t very polite to shove that picture into my face either. Especially after I spent the night trying to picture what exactly that little shit Ethan has done to Justin. Of course, Jennifer doesn’t know that, but I can’t believe anyone can be that oblivious. Doesn’t she know her son at all? 

 

She stiffens at my words, her demeanor turning from cool to openly hostile, and I can see she’s about to reply when her eyes flicker to the clock in the corner. “Oh my god,” she exclaims. “It’s past two already.” Her eyes darting around, they finally find what she was looking for and she picks up her purse. Not looking at me, she tells me, “I need to pick up Molly from school. I promised her we’d go shopping this afternoon. Justin is … upstairs. He’ll be down in no time.” 

 

She finally gives me a look that clearly tells me how much she hates leaving me here on my own, and that I’m not supposed to leave the room until Justin comes down. With that and not another word she’s out of the house, taking with her the chill that’s been surrounding her ever since I told her what’s going on between Justin and I is none of her business. 

 

I know it would be the right thing to just stay here and wait for Justin, the way Jennifer expected me to, but I’ve never been accused of doing the right thing, anyway. I’m half-way up the stairs before I’m even consciously aware of it, and I go on when I hear voices drifting to my ear. One is Justin’s, the other somehow familiar, even though I can’t place it. And it’s angry. 

 

“Don’t think you can play games with me, Justin.” I move closer to the door and through a crack I can see the guy Justin introduced to me as Ethan’s former manager. His face it red with anger, his little pig-eyes glinting dangerously. “I’m the one holding the key to your family’s happiness now.” 

 

I see Justin suck in a sharp breath, “Wh- what?” 

 

The man laughs, and I remember the name Justin mentioned. Greg Hollis. “I’m talking about the little arrangement. The money Ethan gave your mother.” 

 

Justin takes a step back. “But … but Ethan promised…” He’s pale as a sheet, which, given his already pale complexion, is saying a lot. 

 

Hollis laughs again, “That he’d leave the promissory notes to you? Think again, sweetheart.” 

 

Disgust and shame show on Justin’s face before he quickly covers them up. His voice is tight and controlled when he finally finds his voice. “What are you saying?” 

 

Hollis steps closer to the younger man who this time doesn’t back away. “Don’t play dumb. I’m talking about the little arrangement we all enjoyed before.” He reaches out, his meaty hand cupping Justin’s face, “You’re quite a catch. Blond. Sweet. And a bomb in bed. Kinney has to be some kind of sex-god if he was the one who taught you all this.” 

 

I feel the sudden urge to throw up, but stomp it down. But there’s no way I can keep watching this without stepping in. So I cough loudly and then knock on the already open door. “Justin?” 

 

“Brian?” There’s so much surprise in his voice it makes me feel like the worst kind of heel. He opens the door and looks at me. “What are you doing here?” 

 

Summoning all my skills, I plant a smile on my face. “Your mother let me in. She had to leave to pick up Molly.” I let my gaze flicker to Hollis, and have to swallow hard not to punch him into his ugly face. “Mr. Hollis right?” I hold out my hand, making a mental note to scrub it clean afterwards. “Brian Kinney.” 

 

Hollis quickly covers up the anger in his eyes, giving me a shark-like smile, “Mr. Kinney, of course. I’ve heard of you.” 

 

“Should I be flattered?” I grin at Justin who’s still trying to pull himself together. He still hasn’t learned to hide all his feelings. I’ve had to deal with so many assholes – I have no problem coming across as charming even though I want to spit into the bastard’s beefy visage. “I need to talk to you Justin,” I tell the blond. “It’s important.” 

 

“Justin had a hard day,” Ethan’s manager interferes. “Maybe he needs some rest.” He gives Justin a look that speaks more than words. 

 

The blonde’s eyes dart from me to Hollis and back, and finally he says, “No, it’s … it’s okay. We can talk now.” His eyes bore into mine almost desperately. 

 

“That would be great.” I give Hollis my most charming smile. “I really need to get to work soon.” 

 

“I see,” the manager nods, but I don’t miss the warning in his eyes when he turns to Justin. “Don’t forget what we were talking about.” 

 

The blonde’s head comes up. “I won’t,” he says coolly. 

 

“Alright,” Hollis finally gives in and turns to me. “It was nice to meet you again, Mr. Kinney.” In the blink of an eye he’s transformed back into the manager who’s used dealing with people on a daily basis. We shake hands and after a last long look at Justin he leaves the room and we listen to him descending the stairs. 

 

As soon as we hear the door downstairs opening and closing, Justin turns away and moves to the window, staring out on the street much in the same way he did a week ago. 

 

Not quite sure what to say, I say, “Justin, I-“ 

 

“No,” he holds up a hand, then suddenly laughs, even though it’s not a happy sound. “Do you realize I completely forgot about the scars when you kissed me last night. I actually believed they wouldn’t matter.” 

 

“They don’t,” I tell him. 

 

He instantly turns around, his eyes blazing, “So I must have imagined your reaction last night.” 

 

I’m not surprised by the anger in his voice, but it hurts nevertheless because it shows me what my reaction has done to him. “No, you haven’t,” I agree. “And I lied. The scars do matter.” He flinches and I hurry to continue, “Justin, not … not in the way you obviously think. I don’t think you’re damaged or anything.” I see he doesn’t believe me and rub my nape. “Fuck! I didn’t care for your gimp hand before. So why do you think some scars would disgust me?” 

 

For a moment he stares at me, then his shoulders slump. “But why?” 

 

“Because,” I step closer to him, and hate when he backs away – much the same way he did with Hollis. I stop immediately, and just look at him. “Because,” I let my voice go soft, “I hate what they mean. I hate the idea of someone hurting you like this.” 

 

He laughs bitterly, “Believe me, the scars on my chest aren’t that bad. There are scars-“ 

 

“I know,” I interrupt. “I have enough of my own.” I see he’s surprised by the admission and use it to my advantage. “What happened?” I ask, hoping I’m not pushing too hard. 

 

For a moment he seems confused, then suddenly his eyes cool down. “You’ve seen it. They’re scars. I hurt myself and-“ 

 

“Stop that bullshit,” I yell, suddenly feeling such anger, it almost swallows me whole. Seeing his eyes widen in – fuck! – fear, I take a deep breath, “Justin. I’m not an idiot. I know what a cigarette burn looks like. Your chest is littered with them. Someone obviously used you for his own sick ideas of fun. I’m guessing here of course, but my bet would be Ethan. Am I right?” I nail him with my eyes, not wanting him to look away, to find a way out of this. 

 

I can see him struggle, see him biting his lower lip, before he finally nods almost imperceptibly . 

 

“What about Hollis?” I know it might be a long shot, but I can’t forget what I witnessed before. The way the old bastard looked at Justin. 

 

Justin’s head comes up with a snap, his eyes wide with shock. “Wh-what?” 

 

“Was Hollis a part of this little game?” I clarify even though I know Justin understood very well before. When he turns his head away, I move closer, and take his arm. “Justin,” I say gently. “Tell me. You don’t need to hide from me.” His head slowly turns back to me, his eyes brimming with tears. I slowly reach out and touch his cheek, letting my fingertips trace his soft skin. “I can take it, Justin. I’m not your mom. Or Molly. I’m Brian, remember? The guy who fucked half of, hell I probably fucked all of gay Pittsburgh. It’s not easy to shock me.” 

 

“And some straight guys,” Justin replies, a first tear tickling down his cheek. I catch it on my finger, letting the tip trail up the trace. 

 

I look at him in mock outrage. “More than just a few.” 

 

He chuckles at that, but it comes out as a sob. Before I can react, suddenly two arms wrap around my neck, and Justin pulls himself close. “Brian,” he sobs, his tears hot against my chin. “Oh Brian.” 

 

“Shhh,” is all I can say. I’m still not good at this. Crying women, crying men … Fuck, I hate it. It’s always messy, you never know what to do and it messes up my suits, but holding Justin like this, even though he’s trembling, even though sobs are wracking his body, somehow feels right. I’m not ready to get into the depths of this, but I cannot deny how right it feels. 

 

He finally pulls back, a little embarrassed at his outburst. Sniffling, he wipes his eyes and nose, “Sorry,” he whispers and attempts to move from my grasp, but I hold him fast. 

 

“No,” I say gently, holding onto his shoulders. “I’m not going to let you turn away again. I … I didn’t feel disgusted because I saw the scars last night. I was shocked, Justin. Because … I was looking at the proof of what Ethan had done to you. And Hollis.” 

 

“I tried to leave him,” he confesses, “It was that night when I tried, when I decided …” He gulps, and I pull him back into my embrace. His cheek pressed against my shoulder, he continues, “He said he wanted to try bondage and he’d never been cruel during sex. So I … agreed. Hoping that if I agreed it would … God!” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, “I was such a fucking coward.” 

 

“No,” I disagree. “You were trying to help yourself the best you could.” 

 

“You would’ve just kicked his ass. You don’t know how it feels to be a victim. To be helpless, to feel humiliated,” he tosses at me, pulling away as far as I allow him to. 

 

“You think?” I shake my head. “Justin, my father kicked the shit out of me. I couldn’t go to school some days because I had two black eyes. Because my lips were too swollen to speak.” 

 

He looks at me as if he’s never seen me before. I know he’s heard about my twisted relationship with my father. But I’m sure he’s never thought about quite how awful growing up with good old Kinney was at times. Still, I have to admit that, unlike Justin, I finally grew up and hit back, telling my father that I’d kill him if he ever touched me again. I managed to pull out of the mess myself, while Ethan died and with him any chance Justin might have had to fight. 

 

“Justin,” I look at the young man in front of me, the young man I could never quite forget, “I know how it is to feel helpless.” 

 

He slowly nods, “Yeah, I suppose you do,” he says, suddenly seeing me in a whole new light. 

 

“So, Ethan suggested bondage and you agreed.” 

 

He nods again, “Yeah. And then … all of a sudden … he had this cigarette and…” He swallows, “God, I felt so … I never felt that way before. And while I was still bound, the door opened and …” 

 

He tries to get away again, and this time I let him, knowing instinctively that he can’t look at me now. 

 

“Go on,” I encourage. I failed him before, time and again, but not this time. “Tell me.” 

 

Justin wraps his arms around himself, slightly bending over in the middle. “Hollis came in. And Ethan …,” I can hear he’s crying again. “Ethan just moved aside and … let … Hollis take his place.” 

 

Feeling as if I’m currently being gutted with a sharp, hot object, I walk over to where he stands and wrap my arms around him from behind, holding him even as he tries to move away again. “Shhh,” I soothe him. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Justin. Nothing.” 

 

“I … I …,” he cries, “just lay there, my wrists and ankles bound and he …” He turns and buries his face in my chest. “Brian,” I hear him muffle. 

 

I hold him like this for what seems like an eternity, let him cry in my arms, and I feel as if this should’ve happened a long time ago. But even if we want, we can’t turn back time. All we can do is deal with the present and try to move on from where we are now, and hope not to go crazy at the thought of some old pervert forcing himself on this beautiful blond boy, with the ‘wonderful Ethan’ as a willing participant. 

 

Too bad, Justin can’t fight Ethan anymore. It might actually help him. But Hollis is still here, still around. Which reminds me. “Is Hollis blackmailing you now?” 

 

Justin looks up with confusion in his eyes, and I smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation when I came up before.” 

 

He nods and sniffles. “He … has his hands on the promissory notes for the money my mother borrowed from Ethan. Ethan promised me that …” He trails off, and I know what he’s referring to. Ethan obviously promised him to give those notes back to him, instead of leaving them to Hollis. I think I’m only now starting to realize how fucked up Ethan Gold really was. 

 

“And he expects you to continue where you left off before Ethan died.” It’s not a question, I’d heard enough before to already know the answer to it. 

 

“It never happened again after …,” Justin wipes his eyes, “that one time. I think Ethan realized he had crossed a line. That I would only play along so far. So I was safe from Hollis. But now …,” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I can stand him touching me again. I’d rather die.” 

 

“Stop talking like that,” I snap angrily. The mere thought of Justin … 

 

“Like what?” He stares up at me. “You’d rather I became his whore?” 

 

“I didn’t say that,” I snap again. The second worst idea is Justin having to endure those beefy hands on his body again. “But there has to be another way. You could-“ 

 

He interrupts me before I have an opportunity to finish, “I don’t want my mom to know. I don’t want her to feel guilty.” 

 

“I don’t want that either,” I lie. Actually, I want her to feel guilty. For being so stupid. So blind. What kind of mother is it who only sees what she wants to? But then I remember my own. Standing there, watching my father beating the shit out of me. Never saying a word, never arguing. Just turning her head the other way. It’s probably not so uncommon after all. God, I’m glad I met Debbie or I might think all mothers are like that. 

 

“But, Justin,” I continue. “Your mother needs to know that you’re not mourning Ethan’s death. She’s strong. She can take it.” 

 

“You think?” He looks at me doubtfully. “You have no idea how she was. How she loved Ethan. And the idea of us together. We were the perfect couple for her.” 

 

“Then maybe it’s time to show her that she was wrong,” I suggest, a twisted part of me already anticipating the sight of Jennifer bursting into tears as her little fantasy world comes tumbling down. 

 

But Justin shakes his head, “It would kill her. To find out that Ethan… And that I went along with it because of the money he invested in her business.” 

 

I realize that Justin won’t give an inch where his mother is concerned, and sigh, “Okay. So how about if you talk to Mel?” I see him raising a brow, and roll my eyes, “We’re still not friends, but even I know a kick-ass lawyer when I see one. She’s even better than she was before. I’m sure she’d find a way…” 

 

But Justin shakes his head. “There’s no way,” he cries. “He would still have the notes and … my mom could lose everything.” 

 

“How much does she owe him?” 

 

He shrugs, “I’m not sure. But it should be around half a million.” 

 

I whistle through my teeth, “A lot of money.” 

 

“So you see,” Justin argues, “I can’t just … make it go away.” 

 

“And your mom trusts Hollis.” Once again it’s not a question. 

 

“Like she trusted Ethan. She thinks he’s wonderful.” 

 

Which only shows once again Jennifer’s nonexistent ability to judge character. Fuck! There has to be a way to … “Justin,” I look at him intently. “Do you trust me?” 

 

I try not to show that I feel actually breathless waiting for his answer, that it means to me more than I’m willing to admit. 

 

He nods slowly, “I trust you.” 

 

“Hollis can’t expect you to live with your mom all the time, can he?” As the idea starts to take shape in my mind, I alternately try to find out if I’ve actually gone crazy or if I’m not such a bad person after all for suggesting this. Or maybe … but I’m not ready to deal with that possibility. 

 

He frowns, “No, certainly not. I mean, I’m twenty-three. And gay.” 

 

We both chuckle slightly at that. “So, until we find a way to deal with Hollis, how about making it really difficult for him to get to you without actually antagonizing him?” 

 

Justin tilts his head, “What are you suggesting?” 

 

I swallow, my mouth suddenly feeling dry, and I’m sure I’ve gone crazy after all. “You always liked the loft, right? So, how about moving in with me again?”


	4. Charade

“Can you maybe repeat that?” 

 

I see Justin staring at me in complete shock and disbelief, and wonder what I’ve said that made him look at me that way. Oh right, I fucking asked him to move in with me. Am I completely out of my mind? I must be, there’s no other fucking explanation for what I’m doing right now. But instead of saying exactly that, I smile slightly, “I said, how about moving in with me again?” 

 

“You … you want me to move in with you? Why?” 

 

Frowning at him, I can’t quite keep the annoyance out of my voice. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” Why the hell is he questioning my motives? But then I remind myself that I don’t really know this Justin. He’s been gone for four years. Who knows what goes on in his mind these days. Besides, after what Ethan did to him … who can say what being treated that way did to him? 

 

Besides … maybe he really should question my motives. They were never quite pure in the first place. 

 

Justin shakes his head ever so slightly. “Sorry for asking twice. Are you really sure you want me to move in with you?” 

 

“No,” I snap. “I have to ask my parents first. But if they agree there’s nothing standing in your way.” I take a deep breath, “Yes, I am sure. Are you suffering from a hearing defect, or what?” 

 

He looks at me for a long moment, then asks, “What about the tricks?” 

 

What the fuck? My brows draw together, “What about them?” 

 

“Are you going to bring them into the loft?” 

 

What the fuck is happening here? When did this turn into a discussion of my life-style? “What the fuck is this?” I stare at him incredulously. “It’s still my home. If I bring home and trick or not isn’t any of your business. I’m offering you a place to stay. I’m not giving you permission to run my life.” 

 

“I see,” he says simply, and turns towards the window. 

 

I look at his back, unable to ignore the anger I feel at his reaction. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you moving in with me now?” 

 

“No,” he replies quietly. 

 

Not quite able to understand, I have to ask, “No – what?” 

 

“No, I’m not going to move in with you.” 

 

“Because of some random tricks?” I’m not even trying to hide how stunned I feel. “You actually prefer having to defend yourself against Mr. Beefy Fingers instead of being safe at the loft?” 

 

 

He turns back to me, his eyes very blue. “I can’t do it,” he says simply. “I can’t live with you, not knowing if, when I come home, you might be fucking some guy on the couch.” 

 

“I can’t believe it,” I tell him. I shake my head in disbelief, then exclaim, “I can’t fucking believe this.” Feeling agitated, I start to pace the room. 

 

“Brian,” he says, “I was in a monogamous relationship for four years-“ 

 

And that does it. Whirling around and not caring if I’m scaring him, with my eyes blazing, I yell, “You were in a sick, twisted relationship with a guy who loved to see you in pain, who got off beating you, using you for his own sick fantasies. Don’t you dare compare it to what I’m offering you! I would never hurt you like that.” 

 

“No,” he agrees quietly, and holds my gaze. “But you did it in other ways. Sometimes you hurt me a lot more.” 

 

Backing away I shake my head, “God,” I exclaim, “I had no idea how fucked up you really are. I can’t listen to this. You need help, Justin. Badly.” With that I turn away, ignoring him when he calls my name while I take two stairs in one. 

 

“Brian!” 

 

“No,” I shout over my shoulder. “I’m sorry for even suggesting my trick-infested home to someone who’s used to better.” I hear him following me and turn back to him. “Why don’t you ask Hollis instead. Being beaten, tortured and raped seems to be what you’re looking for. Sorry, I can’t give you that.” I look at him for a moment, seeing the tears in his eyes, his outstretched hand reaching for me, and slowly shake my head, “I need to go.” 

 

“Brian, please-“ 

 

“No.” I can’t do this. I can’t listen to him flinging his relationship with Ethan in my face. The ‘wonderful’ Ethan who left scars on and in him for life. The guy who allowed his manager to rape his lover. Thank you so much for comparing us, Justin! And I need to get beaten up for being so stupid as to care in the first place. 

 

I reach for the door and come face to face with Jennifer and Molly Taylor, who were about to enter the house. Not acknowledging them in any way, I simply brush past them, and almost run to my car. I’m out of my league here. 

 

I fucking don’t need this. And I’m going to try my best to forget Justin Taylor ever existed. 

 

***** 

 

Only to find myself in front of Peter Gray’s office half an hour later. It’s all the time I needed to realize that whatever I try, I won’t get Justin Taylor out of my system. And it’s not really a surprise. I have tried unsuccessfully for the last four years to erase him from my memory – I should know better by now. And it really doesn’t matter if Justin wants me caring or not. I never mattered before – so why should it now? 

 

I’m not sure why I chose Peter Gray when I was looking for a therapist three years ago. Maybe because the weather wasn’t very sunny that day and his name fit somehow, who knows? But ever since that first meeting we had in his beautifully furnished office, I’ve seen him regularly twice a month. None of my friends know and I don’t intend for them to find out – ever. They wouldn’t believe me anyway. 

 

I’m not even sure I believe it myself, even though I’ve made progress, or so he says. For 200 fucking dollars an hour he probably has to say it. 

 

I sigh, run a hand through my hair, and smile at his secretary. “I need to see him.” 

 

Myrtle – and it’s her real name, but what can you expect from someone coming from a little village in Texas – frowns for a moment, before she reaches for the phone. “He’s full today. But … I’ll try.” With that she presses a button. “Brian Kinney is here. Says it’s urgent. … Mmmmm … Okay. Fine.” Replacing the receiver, she looks up at me. “He has half an hour in ten minutes, if you don’t mind him drinking and smoking in front of you.” She grins. 

 

And I do the same. Myrtle, fifty-five years old and four times a granny, is a real sweetheart most of the time. And fortunately she’s completely vulnerable to my charm. “Thanks,” I bend down and brush a kiss on her cheek. 

 

She blushes, and points at a chair in the corner, “Have a seat.” As soon as I’m sitting, she tilts her head, “You know, it’s a shame you’re his patient and he’s got all these professional ethics. You’d make the perfect couple. Both good looking, both successful.” 

 

My mouth turns into a half-smile, “Myrtle, are you trying to set me up with your boss?” 

 

She sighs again, the desperate sigh of a mother caring for her child. Peter isn’t related to her, but her own kids are so far away, I think she adopted him the minute she came to work for him. “He works too much. How is he ever going to meet someone that way?” 

 

I shrug, “Don’t ask me.” 

 

Her eyes twinkle with delight, “I’m sure you have no problems finding a date if you want one.” 

 

“I tried it once,” I tell her. 

 

Her eyes widen, “You mean you had one date? All your life and you had one lousy date?” 

 

I shrug again, “Never been one for dates. I ended up fucking the waiter, so it wasn’t a complete failure.” 

 

She cackles at that. “You’re a scoundrel,” she chides me, but it isn’t serious. We hit it off from the start – no wonder she tries to set me up with her boss. 

 

The same moment the door on the left opens. Peter, five-ten, dark hair, slim, glasses, isn’t a bad looking guy. His body could use a little work-out, but all in all he’s okay. Just not quite my type, and besides, he’s too ethical to even contemplate fucking a client. Or rather being fucked by one. I’ve never been a bottom and I’m not going to start now. 

 

He rubs a hand over his weary face and slowly focuses on me. “Brian,” he nods. 

 

Myrtle is on her feet in an instant. “Your coffee will be ready in a minute,” she promises, and rushes towards the little kitchen in the back of the office. 

 

I stand as well, “Sorry to come on such a short notice, but I really need your help.” 

 

Peter gives me a tired grin, “It’s your money.” His eyes travel up and down my form, “Armani?” 

 

I grin back – he’s almost as bad as I when it comes to designer clothes – and hold out my arms, “Latest collection. Like it?” 

 

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs appreciatively. “Well, come in then. What’s the problem?” he asks, gratefully taking a cup from Myrtle, who closes the door on her way out. 

 

I sigh, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. Is it right if I blurt out Justin’s problems? But then I remind myself that this is Peter, the guy who already knows the worst where I’m concerned. I sit down on the chair that’s as familiar to me as my own home and start to talk. 

 

*** 

 

Twenty minutes and six cigarettes – three for each of us - later, his cup only half empty, Peter stares at me, his cigarettes forgotten on the table. “And I thought you had a lot of baggage to carry around.” He blows out a long breath, and shakes his head, “Christ, no wonder he reacted that way.” 

 

I raise a brow, “It doesn’t surprise you?” 

 

“Not at all,” he finally picks up his cup again, then grimaces at the cold coffee, and puts it back down. “After living with you, putting up with your…” He catches me narrowing my eyes and grins, “Brian, you’re so full of your own shit. It must have been hell.” 

 

I can’t help but chuckle, “Yeah, it wasn’t easy.” 

 

“I’ll bet. And then when he finally thinks he’s found what he’s been looking for, the man of his dreams turns out to be a sick bastard. How old did you say is Justin?” 

 

“Twenty-three.” I don’t have to think about it. His birthday is memorized in my head. 

 

Peter nods, “He won’t do it half-way again. It will be all or nothing.” 

 

I roll my eyes, “I didn’t ask him to marry me. I just offered him a place to stay. A place where he’d be safe from this Hollis-guy.” 

 

He smiles knowingly, “You’re so full of shit, Brian. You just told me that you were about to fuck him when you found the scars. And he was about to let you. If Justin is only half the guy you told me he is, and if only half the stories about your life together are true, this says a lot more than you’re ready to face.” 

 

“What are you saying?” I get up, feeling agitated, unsettled. “That he’s been pining away for me all those years? That I’ve been waiting for him to finally wake up?” I snort, “Four years ago I gave him a choice. Take it or leave it. I made it perfectly clear who and what he was getting by staying with me. He chose Ethan.” 

 

“Yeah,” Peter looks at me for a long moment. “And you’ve never forgiven him for it.” 

 

“That’s such bullshit,” I snap, walking to the window in the corner. Looking out of windows has always calmed me, but now it doesn’t help at all. “We weren’t committed to each other. There were no locks, no-“ 

 

“You had rules,” the therapist interrupts me. “And you lived by them. For you they were important. Have you ever followed rules before?” 

 

“All the time in my job.” 

 

He nods, “Yeah. But we’re not talking about your job. From what you’ve been telling me, you never did anything others wanted you to. Not even for Michael. And he’s your best friend.” 

 

Taking it in, deciding not to think about it right now, I ask, “So, how am I going to help him?” 

 

“You really want to go through with this?” 

 

“I don’t have a choice. You haven’t heard this bastard threatening him. And you haven’t seen the fear in Justin’s eyes.” Eyes so blue I want to drown in them, I add silently. 

 

“It won’t be easy. He’s going to be extremely touchy where his space is concerned. And the fulfillment of his expectations. Or in other words, he won’t take second best again. Plus, he’s gone through four years of hell, Ethan and Hollis made him feel a victim. It’s one of the worst feelings someone can experience. It leaves scars for life.” 

 

“And that means?” I look at Peter with raised brows and wonder if all therapists love to talk in circles. 

 

He sighs, “It means that he needs to resolve this. In order to even resemble his old self again, he needs to move on, but he can only do it if he’s the one confronting Hollis.” 

 

Hating the mere idea, I blow out a long breath. “And where does that leave me?” 

 

Peter laughs slightly, and I glare at the smug look on his face. It’s a damn nuisance to have someone knowing you better than you know yourself. Maybe the fact that all my friends are completely oblivious isn’t so bad after all. 

 

“Help him. Tell him you believe in him. He’ll need you at his side. From what you’ve told me he can’t count on his family, for obvious reasons. His sister seems okay, but she’s too young to deal with something like this.” He pauses, his face very serious, “And if you want a chance with him, Brian.” He makes another pause, then adds, “You have to think about your life style. If you really want him, you have to show him that he matters.” 

 

“I showed him in so many different ways,” I protest, thinking about all the little things I did for him. “It just wasn’t enough.” 

 

He stands, and walks over to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Then, my friend, you need to make sure that this time it will be.” 

 

***** 

 

“Brian.” Mel gives me a look that clearly says she thinks I’ve finally lost my mind as I just storm into her office, not caring for the shouts of her secretary. Under different circumstances I might have taken the time to give him a closer look, but as it is, I couldn’t be less interested in sex. 

 

“I need to talk to you,” I say without preamble. “It’s important.” 

 

The secretary, hovers in the doorway, and Mel scowls at me for a moment before she sighs, “It’s okay, Martin. Even though it’s hard to believe, Mr. Kinney and I know each other. He’s not going to kill me.” Then she adds under her breath, so only I can hear, “Maybe the other way around.” 

 

I have to grin, but when the door closes behind me, I’m serious again. “Thanks.” 

 

Mel leans back in her chair, her eyes scrutinizing me. “So, what do I owe the favor of your visit? It’ll be another three weeks until your daughter will be born.” 

 

I ignore the sarcasm in her voice, and assume the chair opposite to her. “First of all I need to make it very clear that nothing we’re going to talk about is to leave this office. Nobody – not even Linds – can know about this.” 

 

Her forehead turns into a frown, “I’m a lawyer, Brian. That means I’m under oath never to betray a client’s confidence.” She pauses, smiles slightly, “Are you a client?” 

 

“Charge whatever the fuck you want.” I glare at her for good measure, but I know she’s not intimidated by it. Not sure where and how to start, I comb a hand through my hair, “Look, this is … difficult.” 

 

“What?” She grins, “Fucked someone you shouldn’t have again?” 

 

“As disappointing as it may be for you, no. This isn’t about me … It’s about Justin.” 

 

She straightens her back, and tilts her head, “Justin?” 

 

“Yeah,” I confirm. Suddenly feeling sick again, I get up, “Jesus. I hate this. Fuck!” I start pacing her office, then stop at the door, to turn and look at her, “Since the wake I … I’ve seen him twice.” 

 

Her brows come up, a smile playing around her lips. “My, my, my. You certainly work fast, I have to give you that.” 

 

Staring at her for a moment, I reach for the doorknob, “Fuck this,” I grit out between clenched teeth and am about to open the door when her voice stops me. 

 

“Brian.” I glance at her over my shoulder and see her standing. “Please, wait.” 

 

Maybe something in my demeanor told her that this isn’t a joking matter. Who gives a shit anyway? Mel is the only lawyer in this fucking town I can trust with this, and she sure as hell isn’t homophobic. True, I could search for a gay one, but maybe her being Justin’s friend will help the cause. And as I see it right now, Justin will need all the help he can get. 

 

She makes an inviting gesture with her hand, “Why don’t you sit down and tell me. And I promise not to…” She sighs, “I don’t know why you always cause me to act that way.” 

 

After a moment, I take a deep breath, “Okay.” Walking back to the desk, I slightly shake my head, “At the wake I noticed that something just wasn’t right. And when he came to dinner yesterday night he confirmed my suspicions.” 

 

Her eyes narrow, “Suspicions?” 

 

“I know you’re not gonna like this, but Ethan’s and Justin’s so called ‘love of all times’ wasn’t all that wonderful.” I breathe deeply, exhaling slowly, trying to fight the nausea once again settling in my stomach. “Justin told me that Ethan was … abusing him.” 

 

“No way!” Mel stares at me, disbelief written all over her face. “Brian, I know you never liked the guy, and I can even understand you up to a certain degree. But …,” she trails off, and blinks. Obviously something in my eyes has caught her attention. “You’re serious?” Disbelief is replaced by shock, then anger. “Oh my God.” 

 

I nod, “Yeah. We came close to fucking last night and when I opened his shirt I could see scars. They’re not that visible at first, but there’s no doubt that the oh-so-perfect Ethan liked to play with cigarettes.” 

 

Melanie pales, her eyes in stark contrast to the colorless skin, rage burning in them. “Oh my God,” she whispers, shaking her head, and repeating the words over and over again. Finally she manages to get herself together. “Why did he stay?” 

 

“He tried to leave. But it seems that Ethan gave Jennifer a loan to expand her business. He threatened to ruin Justin’s mom.” Once again I have to exhale slowly, “You know Justin. You know how fiercely protective he is of people he loves. He doesn’t want his mother to know – ever.” 

 

“Because she would feel guilty,” Mel nods. Rubbing her palms over her face, she shakes her head. “I wonder if all parents are so blind. We can only pray that we won’t be that way. I can’t imagine Gus-“ 

 

“Don’t even say it,” I warn, getting up again, feeling too unsettled to discuss this sitting down. Lowering my head, I continue, “It’s not all. Ethan may be dead, but now his manager has the promissory notes and he’s threatened Justin. I heard it with my own ears.” I don’t want to tell her about Hollis and what he did to Justin, don’t want the blonde to have to face the humiliation of other people knowing, so I just leave it out. It’s enough for her to know what he’s threatened Justin with. “He expects Justin to … perform for him.” 

 

“What?” Mel jumps up from her chair. “God!” 

 

“I tried to get him to move in with me,” I tell her, “but he refused. He’s too damn stubborn for his own good.” 

 

She tilts her head, “What did you say to him?” 

 

I sigh, “Nothing. He … this is really none of your business. We had an argument about my life-style, and-“ 

 

“The tricks,” she smiles knowingly and I want to wring her neck. What is it about Peter and Mel that they’re able to see right through me and manage to get to the heart of things. 

 

I release a long breath. “The tricks,” I confirm. “He’s … I wanted him to get away from Hollis.” 

 

She rounds her table and comes closer, “Brian, are you really that stupid? I don’t think so. Justin will never be just your friend. He’s never been immune to you. Unlike you, he knows moving in with you will put him in jeopardy of falling in love with you all over again – if he’s ever stopped, that is.” 

 

Unwilling to deal with it, I shake my head, “He lived with Ethan for four years, for fuck’s sake. He never even called-“ 

 

“But that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten you. Just like … you didn’t forget him.” She grins when my head snaps around, “You’re good, I’ll give you that. I needed a long time to figure you out. But even though you try your best to hide it, you care about people. A lot more than you let anyone see. But when you’re with Gus and all veils are off … That’s when you show your true colors.” She sighs, “Brian, Justin might be in a tight spot right now, but he still knows that being with you, he might risk his very soul. And he’ll only do it if you give him something to hold on to.” 

 

Angry all of a sudden, I brush her off, “Listen, I didn’t come for friendly advice. I need your professional opinion, that’s all.” Besides, I have Peter to tell me all this stuff, but of course Mel doesn’t know that. She sighs deeply, disappointedly, but I decide to ignore it, and ask instead, “Is there any way to get a hold of those promissory notes?” 

 

She turns away from me and resumes her seat behind the desk, “Let me talk to a colleague. He’s a specialist in financial law. I’m not really into the subject very much.” 

 

Alarmed, I look at her, “But-“ 

 

She holds up her hands, “I won’t mention any names. Besides – I’m going to ask him as your lawyer, which means the rules about protecting a client’s confidence include him. Okay?” 

 

“Okay,” I nod. “Ask him. And call me as soon as you know something.” I reach for the door, then stop, “Mel … thanks.” 

 

“Hey, that’s what f… uh … well, you’re welcome.” 

 

I grin and shake my head. “You’re not so bad after all.” Nope, we’re never going to be friends. But maybe we can like each other after all. God help me – another muncher I like! As if having Lindsay in my life weren’t enough. 

 

She grins, too. “You either. And I promise not to tell.” 

 

I actually laugh when I leave her office. Whoever thought that talking to Melanie Marcus could improve my mood?


	5. Charade

I still remember the first time Ethan hit me. It’s amazing, really, that I can still feel the sting where his palm connected with my cheek, because it’s such a little incident compared to the things he did to me later. I have forgotten quite a bit of that – or I tried at least. 

 

It was the day before we were supposed to leave for Europe and I’d slept fitfully, disturbed by vivid dreams of Brian. As a result I was dead tired and had to kick myself to pack my suitcases. We’d been to a dinner at Deb’s the night before and even though he was invited Brian didn’t show. I was disappointed, not because I still cared for him that way, I told myself, but because I thought he would at least say good bye. It wasn’t that we saw each other often since I moved out of the loft and in with Ethan, but the few times we had we’d been civil, sometimes friendly. So his not showing up at Deb’s hurt – even though I did my best not to let it show. 

 

In my dreams I saw him standing in front of me, that cocky grin I once loved to death on his face. His eyes were sparkling with laughter and then without warning he was kissing me and before I could form a coherent thought we started fucking. 

 

 

So it wasn’t really a surprise to wake up dead tired. Even imagined orgasms – and there were a lot of them – can be exhausting, believe me. 

 

Ethan, on the other hand, was miffed the whole day, more throwing the clothes into his bags than actually packing them, muttering under his breath the whole time. I tried to avoid him the best I could, not feeling up to a confrontation, but around afternoon we kind of ran into each other, which, given the tiny shithole we were living in, wasn’t that surprising. In fact, it was a miracle it hadn’t happened before. 

 

We stared at each other for a moment and suddenly he shouted at me, “Can’t you watch where you’re going?” 

 

I think I must have looked stunned, then shook my head and said, “Why don’t you take a warm shower and wash off the bug that’s been irking you the whole day?” 

 

“Not possible,” he snapped back, “you’re the bug irking me.” 

 

“Huh?” I know, not really a smart answer, but I had no fucking idea what he was talking about. 

 

“I said,” he repeated, “you’re the bug irking me. How would you feel if your lover was shouting the name of his ex in the middle of the night?” 

 

Shit! I hadn’t thought the dreams were that vivid, but obviously they were. “Oh,” was all I could say, feeling a flush creep up my neck. Damn. Damn. Double damn. “Listen, Ethan,” I tried, thinking the truth was probably the best way to go. “I was kind of miffed that he didn’t show up last night. I thought for him to at least say goodbye wasn’t expecting too much. Obviously I was wrong.” And I wanted to leave it at that, trying to push past him, but his hand was holding me back. 

 

“That,” he sneered, “would be a lot more convincing if I hadn’t noticed your hard-on tenting the sheets.” 

 

Uh-oh. I swallowed, certain that my face had to be like a ripe tomato by now. “Ethan-“ I started, but never got the opportunity to finish because his palm landed on my cheek with a loud smacking noise. 

 

I’m not sure who was more stunned afterwards. We were staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity, then averted our eyes and went our ways. 

 

An hour later he started apologizing profusely and I stopped him, feeling that I’d somehow deserved it. I had been having orgasmic dreams of Brian, after all. It was years afterwards, when I wondered if I might have been able to avoid what happened later, had I not been so ready to accept the blame. I still wonder, but it never gets me anywhere. Ethan is dead and he can’t answer my questions. 

 

Two weeks later we were in Italy and already laughing about that stupid slap that meant nothing. We were happy, and in love, and the future looked brighter than ever. A year after that his father died and my life turned into a living hell. 

 

I still don’t understand what or how it happened. It just did. Not gradually – as I’ve read in books – but from one day to the other. 

 

It was the night after his first concert in Rome when we came home and he started hitting me. Not a slap, but really beating me up. He used his fists and when I lay on the ground he kicked me. Twice. In the ribs. It hurt so much, for a moment I thought I’d die because I couldn’t force breath in my lungs. And Ethan didn’t care. 

 

While I was laying on the ground, I heard him step into the shower and turn it on. I was in bed when he came back. He slipped under the sheets beside me, and fell asleep, not uttering a single word. I didn’t sleep, and all I could think was what I’d done to make him act that way. It was years later when I finally accepted that it wasn’t me. That it was Ethan. That there was something wrong with him. It was still too late to erase the years that passed or the scars they left inside of me. Scars I will carry for life. Scars I’m not sure can heal completely. 

 

I’m startled out of my musings when the phone rings. Picking it up I start to smile. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

“Daph!” Somehow her voice always ups my mood. I’ve never quite understood what it is. It just happens. 

 

“So,” she says, “I was thinking – how about a few hours at the mall?” 

 

I want to kiss her for it. Anything to escape this house. “You’re saving my life, do you know that?” 

 

She giggles. “Thought so. She hovering over you again?” 

 

With Daphne I never need to pretend, so I sigh heavily, “You have no idea.” 

 

“You want me to come and get you?” 

 

I think about it for a moment, “Yeah. Maybe that way I’ll be able to leave without another mom-moment.” 

 

“That bad?” she asks. “Well, nevermind. Just don’t forget that she loves you.” 

 

As if she needed to remind me. “I know. She worries. But all I want to do is scream.” 

 

She is silent for a second or two. “Can you be ready in an hour?” she wants to know then. 

 

“Sure.” I can hardly wait to escape for a while. And Daphne is an excuse Mom will accept without asking. And believe me, I’m aware of the fact that it sounds pretty pathetic coming from a twenty-three year old, but maybe that’s what I am. Maybe I am pathetic these days, have been ever since I let Ethan use me as his personal punching bag without fighting back. 

 

“Justin?” 

 

Uh-oh. I almost forgot that Daph is still on the phone. “See you in an hour,” I tell her. 

 

“Yeah. See you.” 

 

I put down the phone and rub my forehead. Seeing Daphne for a while will, I hope, take my mind of Greg Hollis. I still shudder at the thought that he touched me in the most intimate way. He hasn’t shown up since Brian was here last week, but from Mom I know he’s still around. He’s been contacting her almost every day. Business she said – and I know he’s been doing it to let me know he’s not forgotten. 

 

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the window. 

 

Sometimes I wish Chris Hobbs had been more accurate when swinging the bat. 

 

***** 

 

We’ve been strolling through the mall for about an hour when I suddenly hear the voice of a child near by and turn my head. 

 

“Dad, look.” 

 

I have to blink, but then there’s no doubt. And I find myself staring at what has to be my too vivid fantasy. No way. No fucking way. 

 

“Daaaaad.” 

 

The father forces a smile on his lips – a smile that once made me tingle all over. “Yes, Gus?” And I realize with sudden awareness that it’s not lost its power. In an instant my groin tightens. 

 

“I want that one,” Gus announces, pointing at a huge doll in a shop window. I recognize one of the Teletubbies. 

 

“No way,” Brian replies, staring in horror at the doll. “No way my son is going to get something,” he waves disgustedly at the window, “something like that.” 

 

The boy’s lower lip sticks out, and his eyes take on that lost puppy dog expression he’s got down to perfection. “But, Daaaad.” 

 

“Gus,” Brian looks down at him, “you can’t really want something like that. Where would it go, anyway? It’s huge.” 

 

“It could go into your loft,” he tells his father, giggling when Brian shudders. “Please, Dad. I could sleep with it. I always wanted a Teletubby.” 

 

That is when Daphne suddenly notices that my attention is not on her anymore. “Hey,” she waves her hand in front of my face, then looks in the direction I’ve been staring for the last minutes. And of course I should’ve known she’d react that way as soon as she realized who was standing there. “Brian?” Her voice is a little high-pitched. She’s obviously never gotten over that high school crush she once had on him. But neither have I – so how can I blame her? 

 

Brian’s head comes up slowly, and for a moment I see something flicker through his eyes before they go blank. “Daphne,” he smiles with his mouth, and strolls over to us. He bends a little and pecks her on the cheek. “Gus, do you remember Daphne?” 

 

The boy has moved closer to his father, obviously not quite comfortable with us. “No,” he whispers in his father’s trousers. Then his eyes land on me, and lighten up. “Justin!” 

 

“Hey Gus,” I smile at him, more than a little surprised he remembers me. Probably from the wake. “I see you like the Teletubby.” 

 

“Yeah,” he exclaims, before an adorable pout appears on his face. “But Dad won’t give it to me.” The look he shoots his father is so familiar, it makes my gut tighten painfully. I’m suddenly flooded with memories I thought forgotten for good. 

 

“Gus,” Brian warns, “we talked about this.” 

 

Without warning Gus’ eyes suddenly fill with tears, and he sniffs. But what really baffles me is Brian. Not in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d see what I’m seeing now. He blinks and quickly turns away, and he had to clear his throat before he says, “We’ll see what Santa Claus can do.” 

 

“Yay!” Gus cries happily, and losing his shyness, he grabs Daphne’s hand to pull her to the shop window. 

 

I can do nothing but stare at the man before me, and have to smile. “Who would’ve thought. Brian Kinney defenseless against a little boy.” 

 

His brows are furrowed when he looks at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

 

“Seems that Gus already knows who’s the real marsh mallow in the family.” My grin widens. 

 

His expression darkens for a moment, then it goes blank again. “So,” he once again lets his lips curve into the familiar smile, “what brings you two to the mall?” 

 

“Daphne invited me, and I used the opportunity to get away,” I tell him, wanting to bite my tongue when his eyes twinkle knowingly. 

 

“Mom getting on your nerves already?” 

 

Instantly I feel defensive. “She only wants what’s best for me. She loves me.” 

 

“Yeah,” he snorts, “so much, she never even cared what really happened between her little baby and the wonderful Evan.” 

 

“Ethan,” I correct automatically. “It’s none of your business, Brian.” I don’t know why I act this way. Brian has done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment from me. But whenever he gets close, my hackles come up. 

 

“Yeah, I know,” he grits out, “you made that perfectly clear.” 

 

“Dad,” Gus joins us again, “I invited Daphne and Justin for lunch. That’s okay, right?” 

 

Brian’s face shows no emotions, but he nods, “Sure.” He looks at Daphne and me, “Gus and I were about to get a cheeseburger. Want to join us?” 

 

“You eat cheeseburgers?” I ask, while we turn to the McDonald’s. 

 

“Dad eats salad,” Gus answers instead. “But I eat cheeseburgers. A lot.” He giggles, and I can’t help but smile. The little boy’s mood is infectious. Only his father seems to be immune to it. He stares straight ahead, as if he’s trying his best to pretend we’re not here. 

 

“How about if Gus and I get the food?” Daphne offers. “A salad for you, Brian?” 

 

“Yeah,” he replies. “Italian dressing.” 

 

“Okay,” she smiles at him. “For you, Justin?” 

 

“I’ll have a cheeseburger as well. And a coke.” 

 

With another smile, she leaves us at the booth we’re already sitting in. An awkward silence settles between us for a moment, then I force myself to talk. “So, how’s work?” 

 

“Stop it,” he snaps, startling me with the anger in his eyes. 

 

“Brian, I’m only trying to make small talk. Your son invited us for dinner, and we have to get along somehow.” I fumble with the next words for a moment, but then I force them out. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings by refusing-“ 

 

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” he interrupts. “You just showed me you’re still an immature kid. I offer you an escape and you don’t take it because you can’t accept my life-style. It was a friendly gesture and you turn it into a general discussion. Thanks, but no thanks. Been there, done that. Didn’t work before.” 

 

I’m at loss for words, but I still want to try to keep this civil. “Brian, I-“ 

 

“Why are words still so important for you?” he tosses at me. “For years you had a partner who told you he loved you all the time, and still he beat the shit out of you. Haven’t you learned by now that words are nothing but bullshit?” 

 

I see other customers looking at us and feel color rising in my cheeks. Brian doesn’t care. But it’s not surprising. He never cared what others thought. At first I found it fascinating. Until I realized that it also included me. 

 

Fortunately Daphne and Gus return with the food before I can say something I might regret later. But the mood is subdued, the two others somehow sensing that something’s going on between Brian and me. He only picks at his salad, shoving the leaves back and forth on his plate, when his cell rings. 

 

“Yeah,” he answers. “Hey. … Yeah.” I see his posture changing. He straightens his shoulders, his eyes become alert. “And? … What did he say? … I see.” He looks at me. “I could bring him over with me. I need to bring back Gus anyway… Fine. See you later.” 

 

He stuffs the phone back in his pocket and looks at Gus. “That was your mom,” he tells him, before his eyes turn to me, “Mel wants to see you.” 

 

There’s something in his eyes, something I can’t quite put my finger on. “Why?” 

 

He sighs, “I have no idea why. She just wants to see you.” 

 

“He could go with us,” Gus offers with a grin. “Right, Dad?” 

 

“Right,” Brian agrees. 

 

I stare from father to son and back at the father. What the hell is happening here? “Am I being kidnapped or what?” 

 

Gus puts his hand over his mouth and giggles, and Brian winks at him. I look to Daphne for help, but she’s suddenly developed an interest in the napkin holder on the table. I sigh – seems I have no say in this. 

 

***** 

 

Only when Lindsay wraps her arms around me, do I notice the bulge of her stomach. Pulling back I stare at it and it makes her laugh. “I … I didn’t see it before. I’m sorry.” I’m embarrassed. I must have been completely out of it at the wake. “Who?” I ask, and get another shock when she glances at Brian. 

 

She laughs, “And we didn’t even have to force him this time.” 

 

“It was more the other way around,” Mel grumbles. 

 

Huh? Does that mean Brian wanted another kid? I find myself staring at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s looking at Mel instead. “Here we are. What is it?” 

 

Her eyes flicker to Linds, “Uh … we could talk in the living-room, if you want. Linds, I think Gus wants something to drink.” 

 

Lindsay looks at Mel for a moment, before she nods and holds out her hand for her son. Gus grabs it and they disappear in the kitchen. 

 

I feel a slight nausea in my stomach. Brian’s been acting oddly all the way over here in the car. And now Mel’s sending Linds away. “What’s going on here?” I want to know. 

 

Mel smiles, “Why don’t we sit down and then I’m going to explain.” 

 

So we sit down and she does and when she finishes, I jump from my seat, and glare at Brian. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone. You promised.” 

 

He sighs. “Justin-“ 

 

“Don’t Justin me. You promised. And you betrayed me.” I can’t believe he told Mel about all the things Ethan did to me. Does he have any idea how exposed I feel, how embarrassing it is to have other people know that you let another person do that to you? “How could you?” I ask, hating the way my voice trembles. “How could you do it?” 

 

“Justin, I-“ 

 

“No,” I cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. And I’m not going to stay and listen to this shit.” 

 

I turn away, when Mel’s voice stops me. “Justin, please. Brian did this to help you. And I’m not pitying you. I was so angry when he told me, I wanted to go and beat the shit out of Ethan. I’m really sorry he’s dead.” 

 

“Step in line,” Brian adds, his eyes cold and hard. 

 

They exchange a look of complete agreement. Something I’ve never seen before and maybe it’s that look that lets me stay. “I don’t want people to know about this,” I tell her. 

 

“Justin,” she points at the chair I’ve abandoned, and I sit down again. “I’m a lawyer. I’m bound by my oath to never to betray a client’s privacy. I didn’t even talk to Linds.” 

 

I release a breath. “Okay,” I nod. 

 

“Okay,” she nods as well. “Here it goes. Brian had me looking into the legal background regarding the promissory notes this Hollis guy holds.” 

 

“We could pay him off,” Brian offers. 

 

“I don’t have the money,” I argue, and add, “I’m not taking any money from you.” 

 

He frowns, “And I thought we were over that part. This would be a loan, Justin. Like the money I gave you for PIFA. No strings attached. Mel could draw up some papers.” He looks at her for affirmation and she nods. 

 

“Sure. Yet, there’s still the problem that the notes are in your mother’s name. Am I right?” 

 

“Yeah,” I confirm. “Ethan offered her the money. She signed some papers. I’m sure she had no idea that this would happen.” 

 

“In Jennifer’s eyes, the fiddler could do no wrong,” Brian says snidely and I glare at him. I wish he would stop these childish comments. But he glares right back. “Your mother needs to know what’s going on, Justin. She’s a grown woman, for fuck’s sake. It’s not your place to protect her.” 

 

“And it’s none of your business,” I snap. “I told you before. This is my problem.” 

 

“Justin,” Mel interrupts quietly. “As much as it pains me to say this, but Brian is right. You need to tell your mother. You…,” she glances at Brian, then looks back at me, “could just tell her about Hollis and his blackmailing. Leave out Ethan and all that’s happened between you, if you feel better that way.” 

 

“Sure,” Brian snorts, “hide the ugly facts of life from Mommy.” 

 

Mel ignores him, “Justin, please, think about it. Maybe Jennifer even has enough money –“ 

 

“No,” I shake my head. “She doesn’t have the money.” I huff at Brain, “And he doesn’t have it either.” 

 

Brian’s brows come up. “I could-“ 

 

“No,” I cut him off. “I don’t want that. I told you before.” 

 

“What kind of money are we talking about?” Mel asks. “Brian kind of forgot to mention that part.” 

 

“Half a million dollars,” I tell her. 

 

“Shit,” she combs a hand through her hair. It’s got highlights now. Looks nice. 

 

“Yeah,” I agree. “That pretty much sums it up.” 

 

Brian suddenly gets up and starts pacing the room. “He’s too stubborn for his own good. Okay, so he doesn’t want to accept the offer to move in with me. Fine. But this … it’s just plain stupid.” He stops, looks at me with eyes that seem to go right through me, “Why can’t you accept it? It’s just money.” 

 

“Brian is right, Justin,” Mel repeats her words from before. “Your mother has to hear about this. I’m sure she would be very angry if she knew what you’re hiding. If it was Gus, I’d be furious.” 

 

“Mom isn’t you,” I tell her quietly, finding myself wishing for a second that Mel was my mother. She would just beat the shit out of Hollis. And Brian would help, too. Gus didn’t make such a bad deal with his parents. At least his father doesn’t care about his sexual preferences, and his mother isn’t just closing her eyes against reality. Or his mothers, for that matter. 

 

“No, she isn’t,” Mel agrees. “And I admit I don’t know her all that well. But I saw her at the hospital when you were hurt. She was like a raging lioness protecting her young. It will hurt her to hear about it, no doubt, but she wouldn’t want you to sacrifice yourself for her.” 

 

I don’t know what to say. Yes, I can see the truth in all that Mel – and Brian – have been telling me. But to tell my mother what happened to me? “I can’t,” I say. “If I tell her about Hollis, I have to tell her about Ethan, too. If I don’t do it, Hollis will. And I don’t want her to hear it from him.” 

 

“Then tell her already,” Brian’s eyes are almost black. Like the night when I came back from Ethan’s to his bed. The night he told me I stank. He was angry then. And he’s angry now. “I can’t believe you. Are you the same guy who wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer and were stalking me for months? The guy who told his father you wouldn’t go home? What the hell happened to you?” 

 

I look at him for a long moment, before I say, “I’m not that guy anymore. I went through a lot of hard and painful experiences and they taught me that life doesn’t always go the way you want it to.” 

 

His eyes flare, “Don’t dump this on my doorstep.” He’s yelling now, not caring if Lindsay can hear us. Or Gus. “This is not my fault. You decided to go with Ethan. It was your choice. You made it. Now live with it.” 

 

“That’s what I’m trying,” I cry. “You just won’t let me.” 

 

“Because you’re behaving like an idiot,” he shoots back. “Grow a backbone already and fight. Damn you.” He advances towards me, “Fight!” 

 

“I can’t,” I cry, feeling my eyes tear up. “I can’t.” 

 

“Why?” he kneels down in front of me, his strong hands grabbing my shoulders much the same way they did before. “Why?” 

 

I want to run and hide, but he won’t let me. And so I finally stop caring that tears are running down my face, that I feel completely embarrassed in front of Mel. “Because,” I yell, “I don’t know why.” I sob, my head falling forward against Brian’s chest, my tears soaking his crisp shirt. “I … don’t know h-how. I d-don’t know h-how, anymore.” 

 

I feel Brian’s arms come around me, and he pulls me close. “It’s okay, Justin,” I hear him whisper. “I’ll show you, if you let me.”


	6. Charade

And now I’m sitting in Peter Grey’s office the day after my emotional break-down in Mel’s and Lindsay’s living-room. Brian drove me home after wards, and I was grateful for it. I was too worn out to do anything but sit and stare ahead. Brian didn’t say anything, just let me be and I tried my best to ignore my mother’s disapproving looks when she saw us coming, which, I realize, is pretty pathetic for a twenty-three year old man. 

 

Brian didn’t comment on my nervousness, startling me with his thoughtfulness, and only let me out of the car when I promised that I’d be at the address he gave me. Tomorrow, he said, two p.m. sharp. 

 

Can you guess that I nearly fell on my ass when I realized it was a shrink? Even more so when Brian told me he was his. 

 

Brian was seeing a shrink? Miracles never cease to exist. I always expected Brian to run the other way if ever one would cross his path. But obviously I was wrong. But then, and I really hate to admit it, I hardly know this Brian. And it saddens me. 

 

I raised a brow when Brian looked at me sharply before we entered the building. “Nobody knows about this,” he said, and I heard the underlying warning in his voice. “I want it to stay that way.” 

 

He didn’t wait for my answer, just went to the elevators, expecting me to follow. What I did, of course. What else could I have done? I had promised him to do this after all, and even though I couldn’t see how a shrink would be able to help me in my current situation – Ethan was dead, his hold on me gone – I knew better than to argue with Brian when his eyes sparkled with determination. 

 

“Justin,” Peter Grey turns to me, a smile on his admittedly beautifully shaped mouth, and tilts his head, “Is it okay to call you Justin?” 

 

A little startled, I nod. “Sure.” I’ve always hated to be called Mr. Taylor, anyway. 

 

“I’m Peter,” he replies, reaching for a notepad and a pen. “But I’m sure Brian already told you that. Was it his idea about you coming here?” 

 

Peter’s really kind of cute. Not my type, but still cute. Brian told me he was gay, and that the secretary would love nothing more than to set Peter and Brian up. I could’ve told her it was no use. Peter just wasn’t Brian’s type. I know, I know – bold words. I haven’t seen Brian in years, but I’ve seen enough of his tricks to know what he’s going after. And it’s never been the bookish type, wearing glasses. 

 

I remember Peter’s waiting for an answer and say, “Yeah. He … uh … thought it might help.” 

 

He nods slowly, and I see him scribbling on his pad. Not looking up, he asks, “And you don’t think so?” 

 

Why do they always have to answer your question with another? 

 

God, I hate shrinks. The first my mother dragged me to after she found out I was gay. That was a total failure, even though the woman’s shocked expression after my ‘I like cock’-speech is a fond memory I still treasure. The second was in the hospital after the bashing. He was kind of okay, actually. But I still hated being forced to see him. 

 

“I think I have some problems that need to be solved,” I tell him. “And I don’t think a shrink can help me with them.” 

 

“I see.” He puts the pad down, and his startling green eyes scrutinize me for a second. “Why don’t you leave then?” 

 

I’m taken aback for a moment, and stare at him. “You … you mean, like, now?” 

 

“Sure,” he points at the door. “Saves a lot of time and Brian’s money.” 

 

Still not quite able to believe this, I stutter, “H-how m-much money?” 

 

“200 an hour.” 

 

Gulp. The guy has to be good. And my eyes narrow. “Is this some kind of trick?” Not that I have any kind of experience where shrinks are concerned, but I have this nagging feeling this one knows what he’s doing. He’s just too relaxed, too unconcerned. 

 

“No,” he shakes his head. “No tricks. I’m pretty good at what I’m doing, Justin. But the first rule is, that the client has to participate. If you don’t want to be here, there’s no way we can succeed.” 

 

I swallow, and think about the man sitting outside in the waiting-room. “Brian’s going to kill me if I just walk out of here,” I mutter. 

 

Peter grins slightly, he obviously knows Brian pretty well by now. I wonder if he’s secretly attracted to his patient. Wouldn’t be a surprise. I’ve yet to meet someone who isn’t. “He won’t.” His grin widens. “Although I kind of expect him to give you the cold shoulder for a while.” 

 

When I say nothing he clears his throat, “Seriously, Justin. If you don’t see a reason in coming, there’s no way we can work together. So, what’s it going to be? Are you staying … or going?” 

 

Are you coming … or going? Coming … and going? Coming … and staying? 

 

For a moment I’m propelled back to a night in Brian’s loft when my life was still simple and when my greatest worry was to get laid for the first time. My mouth watering at the sight of a wet and naked man in front of me, fully aroused, his eyes like smoldering pools, dark with lust. I was mesmerized by those lips, the sheer perfect body. My mouth was dry and I almost came by just looking at him. 

 

“Justin?” 

 

I lick my lips, and to my utter embarrassment feel my cock leap in my pants. “Uh … s-sorry.” Even remembering a naked Brian can reduce me to a stuttering fool. 

 

Shit! 

 

Maybe I’m in more need of a shrink than I’ve realized. 

 

I cough slightly, “Ah … I think … we could give it a try.” What does it hurt? And maybe, just maybe, talking about Ethan and I can lead somewhere. 

 

He looks at me, then, finally, nods. “Fine.” He picks up his pad once again, then points at a recorder. “Are you alright if I record our session? It’s easier for me to get over it again later. Analyze it.” I grimace at the word and he grins. “Isn’t as bad as it sounds.” 

 

“Yeah, okay,” I tell him. “I mean, it’s okay for you to record it. I don’t mind.” 

 

He presses two buttons, then asks, “You were mentioning some problems you were having. Can you tell me about them?” 

 

I sigh deeply, “Where do you want me to start? When my father kicked me out of the house or when I met the most infuriating man on the planet.” 

 

He laughs a little. “How about you start at the beginning?” 

 

*** 

 

I leap from my seat in the waiting-room, not caring for appearances for once. It’s moot around here, anyway. Peter knows me better than … well, anyone. And Justin … Justin looked well past my bullshit from the moment we met. 

 

I wonder if that’s part of the problem. Michael, for all he gave me, never knew me the way Justin did. It’s not Mikey’s fault. It’s just the way he is. A little oblivious at times. It’s been comfortable, not being forced to open up completely. With Justin I never got the chance to shield myself. Not where it counted anyway. At least when he started stalking me. Then, suddenly, it changed, and until today I don’t know what happened. 

 

Did I really, albeit unconsciously, push him away? Frightened by his insight, by the look in his eyes? 

 

“Brian.” 

 

I blink, forcing myself to look at the two men in front of me. Peter smiles, one of his hands on Justin’s shoulders, that seem sagged somehow. Tired. 

 

“Peter,” I reply, and step forward, yet not daring to touch the blond who looks everywhere but at me. Why? Is there something he doesn’t want me to see? I know how draining and fundamental sessions with Peter can be. How torn open and vulnerable they can leave you. 

 

“Are you okay?” I ask, stuffing my hands in my pockets, ignoring the brow Peter raises at me. Shit! He’s going to remind me of this, next time we see each other. Still, I leave the hands where they are. Keeping them in the open is far too dangerous right now. 

 

“Fine,” Justin mumbles, mirroring my actions by stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Can we go?” 

 

I grab my coat, “Sure.” Justin’s already out of the door, when Peter’s voice stops me. I turn, anxious to follow the blond. “Yeah?” 

 

“Stay with him for a while,” Peter says, his eyes serious in a way I haven’t seen them often. I feel my gut clench. 

 

“Why? What happened?” 

 

His lips twitch slightly, “You know I can’t tell you that. But … it’s been tough for him. He’ll need a,” he pauses, his eyes hard, “a friend.” 

 

I sigh, “I can do other things than fucking, you know.” 

 

“He’s a pretty tasty morsel,” Peter replies, but he’s still serious. “I can understand why you fell for him.” Then he suddenly reaches out and takes my arm. “I know you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Brian. But he’s needy. He … he’ll need you.” 

 

I nod, before I back out of the door and turn to follow Justin. 

 

He’s leaning against the car, eyes closed, hands still buried deep in pockets. He seems smaller than usual. Nothing new there. I used to look that way – or at least feel like it – when I left Peter’s office for the first few times. Still, it hurts to see him that way. 

 

His eyes open when he hears my approach, and the guarded look in them breaks my heart. There’s nothing left of the sparkle I saw that night underneath the street light on Liberty Ave. I wonder if it’s just buried or lost forever. The mere thought makes me want to weep. 

 

I slow my steps and stop a few feet away. “You wanna go home or grab something first?” 

 

I see surprise flicker through his eyes, and wonder what kind of shit I am. “Uh … I’m not hungry right now. But I could do with a cup of coffee,“ he replies. 

 

Unlocking the door, I climb inside and Justin does the same on his side. While I start the ignition, I give him a sympathetic smile. “An hour with Peter can do that to you.” 

 

“How did you find him?” 

 

A wry grin makes its way up my lips. “I … uh … it kind of happened.” 

 

“Ah,” is all he says and I feel anger flare. 

 

 

“I never fucked him,” I tell him more forcefully than necessary. 

 

“I didn’t want to-“, he starts to defend himself but I cut him off. 

 

“No?” I let my right brow rise for good measure, while backing the car out of the parking space. 

 

He sighs. “Okay, so I … I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. Besides, Peter wouldn’t do something like that.” 

 

I wince inwardly. Not quite the answer I was hoping to get. How about, *you* wouldn’t do that, Brian, because I can see you’ve changed. Well, probably a little early to expect something like that. 

 

And how the fuck did I get to a point where I expect anything from Justin at all? 

 

Frowning at myself, I focus on the traffic. But of course I can’t ignore the other person in the car either. “How did it go?” Of course I already know it didn’t go all that well. A blind man would be able to see it. 

 

“Peter said it was … alright. He’s good.” 

 

I’m tempted to say that for 200 an hour he better be, but I swallow the remark. No need for Justin to know about that. “Yeah.” Very eloquent, Kinney. 

 

“He told me what he charges the hour.” 

 

That’s just the way Peter is. Always straight forward. Fuck! “It doesn’t matter. I can afford it.” 

 

“But I don’t wanna-“ 

 

I cut him off before he can ever utter it. “Justin.” Fortunately we have to stop at a red light, so I can look at him. 

 

Or not so fortunately. 

 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

 

My stomach turns at the single tear rolling down his cheek, the agony I see in his eyes. 

 

I can’t do this. 

 

Oh God. Oh God. 

 

I’m no good at comforting people. And I can’t watch him falling apart like this. 

 

Breathe in. 

 

Slowly. 

 

Breathe out. 

 

Slowly. 

 

A car honks behind us and saves me from actually having to do something. I’m the driver after all. 

 

Thank you – God. 

 

Taking a deep breath, and deliberately not glancing to my right side, I say, “Justin. You owe me nothing. But I owe you a lot. Even after all these years.” 

 

“No.” His voice is tight. But I can hear he’s barely holding it together. 

 

What to say? What to do? 

 

YES! 

 

“Ah … about that coffee. How about seeing Gus?” 

 

I hear him swallow so hard, I wonder why his larynx doesn’t jump right out of his neck. “Gus?” he forces out. 

 

“Yeah. You know. Annoying little brat. Short. My son. Gus.” Good. That sounds good, Kinney. Keep it light. 

 

“Uhm …,” another heavy swallow, “I’d like that.” 

 

I slowly release the air from my lungs. Maybe I’m not quite as bad at this than I thought. 

 

Turning to the left, I can already see Linds’ and Mel’s house. They have no idea we’re coming and I can only pray they’re at home. Mel won’t ask any questions. She knows most of it anyway. And one look of her and Linds will shut up, too. 

 

I let the car roll out in front of their driveway. “We’re here,” I announce cheerfully, jumping out of the car as if the devil is on my heels. I hear the other door open as well and without looking back and walk towards the house only to hear Justin’s voice behind me. 

 

“Brian?” 

 

It stops me dead in tracks. It’s barely audible. Hardly recognizable. 

 

Feeling as if I’m shaking all over I turn around, dread filling every cell of my body. And I still feel as if all the breath in my lungs leaves them with a woosh. “Justin.” 

 

With two long strides I’m at his side. He’s deathly pale, his eyes incredibly dark and so full of pain, I don’t dare touching him. The skin of his face seems stretched tight over his cheekbones that stand out all of a sudden. The vein above his right temple throbs and shines blue through his translucent skin. I see his hands are, once again, stuffed into his pockets, but I have no problem to notice the trembling through the fabric. 

 

“Justin.” I say his name slowly, cautiously, afraid he might break. He looks fragile in a way, I only saw when he came to stay with me after the bashing. “Justin.” I’m not sure he even heard me. His eyes are glazed over, far away somehow. 

 

And then it hits me. 

 

I’m such a fucking idiot, I want to kick myself for being so stupid. 

 

Of course he’s living through something. He’s coming from a session with Peter after all. They guy’s so good, you reveal things even if you’ve sworn never to touch them again. Like the night my father hit me in the kitchen, and my mother stood beside the fridge, watching with wide eyes. I still remember her, looking down at me. I was mesmerized by those eyes. And I tried to tell with mine to help me, while I blocked out the pain of Jack’s foot connecting with my ribs time and again. 

 

Afterwards all I wanted was for her to take me in her arms and hold me. The way Peter did when I fell apart in his office. 

 

My arms come up almost as if they have a will of their own, and I slowly wrap them around Justin, cautiously pulling him closer to my body. He’s trembling all over, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear his teeth chattering. 

 

“Shhhh,” I try to soothe him, feeling as if I’m but a cheap substitute for someone who’s better at this. Lindsay for example. But of course she’s never around if you need her. Not even in front of her own fucking house. “Shhhh.” 

 

Instead of settling, the trembling increases, and I feel his heard jerk on my shoulder. I consider pulling away, my closeness obviously doing more damage than good, when his arms suddenly come around me with a vise like grip, that makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able to breathe again. 

 

He says nothing, just clings to me, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, while I feel wracking sobs start deep inside of him. And then he cries, his hot tears soaking through my coat, through my shirt, finally touching my skin, burning it like fire. Finally I’m part of this, the wetness invading me, and it’s as if I can feel it flowing together with my blood, entwining us in a way nothing else can. 

 

I continue holding him, stroking his back, whispering words of nonsense. 

 

I’m no fucking good at this. But maybe I can learn.


	7. Charade

“And while he was doing this, he kept telling you he loved you?” Peter looks up from his pad, his pen poised in mid-air. 

 

And all I want is to run and hide. To avoid answering the question. But I do it anyway. “Yeah,” I whisper, feeling embarrassed and ashamed at the same time. Now that we’re talking about it, I wonder why I let Ethan do this to me? It seems so clear now, that he was abusing me. But I never realized it. Until now. 

 

“I see,” Peter nods, crosses one leg over the other. “What did you feel when he told you he loved you?” 

 

I think about it for a moment. Do I even remember? Were there times when I didn’t wish him dead? Were there times when I was glad to see him? When hearing him telling me he loved me made my heart beat faster? “Uh … I think …” I close my eyes, try to summon memories of good days. Of running in the rain with Ethan, both of us wet to our skin, laughing, kissing. Then, coming back home, heading under the shower … making love. 

 

I feel the smile deep inside before it reaches my lips. “He was so different,” I hear myself saying. “Not like Brian. Brian was always so … closed up. And Ethan was open. He was never afraid to tell me he loved me. He never thought it was ridiculous to be romantic.” 

 

//ridiculously romantic.// 

 

The words sound through my skull, then fade. Where did I hear them? Did I say them? Or Ethan? I forgot. 

 

“And you wanted romance?” 

 

Opening my eyes again, I look at Peter. He’s completely relaxed, but he’s also watching me, scrutinizing me. His gaze doesn’t miss a thing. The way my fingers are fidgeting with the hem of my shirt for example. 

 

I force them to still. Did I want romance? I must have. I never loved Ethan, so why would I want him if not for the pretty words, the way he made me feel special? “I …,” I feel restless all of a sudden. “Can I walk around?” 

 

Peter smiles slightly and something flickers through his eyes before waves at his office, “Be my guest?” 

 

Standing at the window I hear him scribbling something on his pad. Notes. And more notes. I wonder what I said that made it necessary for him to write something down. 

 

“Justin, we can skip this part for today if you want-“ 

 

“No,” I shake my head, but don’t look at him. “It’s okay. I … I suppose I was flattered. Brian was always … he never talked about his feelings. Never said anything … never told me why I was in his life, why he let me stay. And Ethan … he told me loved me three times a day.” I swallow, suddenly feeling acid on my tongue. “I thought it was perfect.” I laugh harshly, “Only to find out that words mean shit.” 

 

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Peter comments. “There are people out there who mean what they say.” 

 

“Yeah?” I know it’s bullshit. Of course he’s right, of course there are people who mean what they’re saying. Emmett for example. Or Deb. I met them. Tough shit I never fell for them. 

 

Peter raises an eyebrow, and I sigh. “I know. I’m pretty fucked up, huh?” 

 

He laughs, “No more than others. Believe me.” 

 

Suddenly needing to change the subject, I ask, “Did Brian tell you about us?” 

 

Peter coughs slightly, “Justin, I can’t tell you about-“ 

 

“I know,” I cut him off. “I just wonder if there’s any sense in telling you, if you know already.” 

 

“Brian told me his version. I’d like to hear yours.” 

 

I bite my lower lip. “’Kay.” Fine. Dandy. Just great. Talking about Brian and me always makes me feel … I don’t even want to think about it. 

 

Feeling the urge to walk again, I pace while starting to talk. “I loved Brian more than anything in this world,” I start, the words suddenly blurting out. “He was my world. I remember,” I chuckle, but feel incredibly sad at the memory, “telling Daphne that I saw the face of God. And that his name was Brian Kinney.” 

 

“Daphne is your friend?” 

 

“Yeah. Best buds. We’ve been buds all through high school. We were both … different. I was this gay boy, and she was the black girl. At St. James we were both outsiders.” I grin, “I was the first guy she slept with.” 

 

“Ah,” Peter nods knowingly and grins a little. “The famous one time with a girl.” 

 

I raise a brow, “You, too?” 

 

“Sure.” He laughs, “Teresa was two years older and convinced that I was worth saving. We did it once. Then she was convinced I was beyond saving.” 

 

We both laugh now. It’s as if I’ve known him forever, Peter is so easy to talk to. Suppose that’s why he’s so expensive. That reminds me that I just let the subject of payment with Brian slide. Damn. 

 

“So,” Peter gets back to business. I know that voice by now. It’s our fourth session today. The second week I’m coming here. Eight hundred bucks. “You fell head over heels for Brian.” He chuckles, “Not hard to imagine.” 

 

I have to grin. “He was fucking gorgeous. I was seventeen. And all I could think about was that I wanted to get laid. And there he is, walking towards me, with that expression in his eyes.” I suck in a sharp breath, remembering, and my cock twitches. 

 

“You were blown away,” Peter states the obvious. 

 

“Yeah,” I confirm. “I went with him. He jerked me off.” I have to laugh, “Right in the middle of a damned phone-call. Gus was born.” 

 

He nods again. I’m sure he knows who Gus is, am sure he’s heard the story already. And he confirms it a moment later. “Brian brought his son to a few sessions. The mothers were on holidays.” 

 

I feel my eyes widen, “They left Gus with Brian during holidays?” Okay, I am starting to realize that Brian has changed, even though we haven’t seen each other a lot. Apart from the heart-wrenching embrace in front of Linds’ house after my first session with Peter, and the times when he picks me up and takes me back to my studio, there isn’t a lot of communication going on. He always keeps his distance, as if he’s afraid to overstep. But for Linds and Mel to leave Gus with him … “How long?” 

 

“Two weeks, I think,” Peter tells me. “They’re very cute together. Gus looks like a mini version of Brian.” 

 

“Yeah,” I agree. Now more than ever. God, I’ve missed so much while I was in Europe with Ethan. Gus didn’t even recognize me at first. And that hurt. Then Peter’s words sink in. “Two … weeks. As in fourteen days?” 

 

“Sure,” he looks at me strangely. “Justin, are you alright?” 

 

No, just my whole fucking world was turned upside down. Mel and Linds left Gus with Brian for two fucking weeks? Oh. My. God. Maybe I should risk taking a closer look at Brian. “I’m fine. Just … surprised, I think. I didn’t think they would trust Brian with…” I trail off when I see that Peter’s face closes up. Of course he’s not going to tell me anything. I have to keep remembering that he’s Brian’s therapist, too. 

 

He clears his throat, “Brian jerked you off in the middle of a phone call…” He looks at me expectantly. 

 

I already said he is good. Smooth, too. “Yeah. We went to the hospital. And I got to choose the name for Gus.” I grimace, “Mel wanted to call him Abraham.” 

 

Peter chuckles, “Poor baby.” 

 

“That’s what I told them. So he was Gus. Brian held him and,” I feel my eyes tear up at the image still firmly settled in my mind, “I think I fell in love with him right there. The way he was looking at Gus. That expression in his eyes.” I have to shake my head, almost too overwhelmed by memories. 

 

“He took you home afterwards?” 

 

Is it just the therapist talking? Or did Brian really not tell him about it? But Brian was doped that night. Maybe he doesn’t even remember it. My heart clenches painfully, the stab of pain still deep. The most precious memory I have of him, his face when he came, shouting he loved me – and he probably doesn’t know shit. 

 

I force myself to answer. “Yeah. Michael,” I look at Peter for confirmation and when he nods, I continue. “Michael drove us. He said he’d drive me home. But Brian kept whispering in my ear.” I still remember the words. 

 

//I’m gonna fuck you. I’m gonna fuck you all night.// 

 

My face turns crimson. “And then he started to blow me right in the back seat of his car.” I chuckle, “Of course I went with him.” And it was beautiful. Whatever happened afterwards. Whatever Ethan did to me. I always had that. I knew what making love was. How sweet it could be. How intense. Because that night wasn’t just sex. It was making love. Even though Brian would never admit it. 

 

He was so careful, so gentle. He kept his eyes fixed on mine, dark with lust, intense with pleasure. And when I felt him come deep inside of me, thick and hot, I knew, I just knew, that this was meant to be. 

 

When I still believed in dreams, and happily ever after, that is. 

 

“From the expression on your face I take it was great.” 

 

I snap out of my memories and find Peter grinning at me. I blush an even deeper shade of red. “Yeah.” 

 

“I can believe that,” Peter sighs, and we share a short grin. “Never gonna happen anyway.” He glances at his watch. “Time’s over. How do you feel?” 

 

“Good. These last three times were like a walk in the sun compared…,” I trail off, remembering my first session, my almost breakdown in Brian’s arms afterwards. 

 

Peter’s eyes turn serious, “Talking about parents is always painful. Especially if one is … rejecting you that way.” 

 

I never told Brian what it was about, and he didn’t ask. Peter and I were talking about my dad. The way my father didn’t want me because I was gay. And the way he wormed himself back in my life the moment Ethan became this famous artist. Suddenly his queer son was okay because knowing Ethan opened up possibilities for Craig he never dreamt of before. God, I wish I could hate my dad. Or not feel anything at all. But I can’t. Whenever I try, I remember falling asleep in his arms while I was still a little boy. And I love him all over again. 

 

“It’s okay to feel ambiguous about your father, Justin.” Peter puts a hand on my shoulder. “Nobody is just black and white. We are all shades of gray.” 

 

“I know.” I sigh, “It just hurts so damned much. Now that Ethan is dead, he hasn’t called. I haven’t talked to him since the wake.” 

 

“Is Greg Hollis bothering you still?” I told Peter about the whole mess during our second session. 

 

“He’s in France for three weeks. So I’m safe for now,” I reply. 

 

“You should accept Brian’s offer,” he says gently, while leading me to the door. “And you should tell your mother. She has to know about it. It’s her life, too. How would you feel if people kept something like this from you?” 

 

I stop for a moment and rub a palm over my face, realizing I need to shave. I overslept this morning and didn’t take the time to do it. “I know, it’s just so hard. Telling her about Ethan and … what he did.” 

 

“Admitting you let it happen,” he adds, giving me a knowing, very gentle, smile. “If you would feel better, you could do it here. During our next session.” 

 

“You mean … in your office?” I stare at him, but I feel something like hope rising inside of me. If mom knew … maybe I could find a way out of this mess. And with Peter present, maybe I could do it. 

 

“Yes, right here. Or I could come to your house. Whatever you prefer.” 

 

I swallow, “I … uh … have to think about it.” 

 

He nods, “Sure. Take all the time you need.” He opens the door and looks at Brian, who rises from his seat, an apprehensive expression on his face. I think he’s still freaked from that first time, and doesn’t know what to expect. I almost have to smile. “Next appointment is Friday. Just let me know what you decide.” 

 

“Thanks,” I smile at him. 

 

“No problem. Brian.” He nods at my companion. “See you next week, Wednesday?” 

 

“Yeah,” Brian nods with a grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.” 

 

Peter chuckles. 

 

***** 

 

I decide that today is not the day to tell my mom. Instead I convince Brian to drive me to the diner. I have the sudden urge to see Debbie, to relive a bit of better days, of what I used to be. When I used to stand there with coffee in my hand. Decaf in one, regular in the other, grinning at the boys stumbling in with hangovers from the night before. Hangovers I didn’t have, being eighteen. 

 

Deb screeches through the whole restaurant when she sees us walk through the door and I find myself in a bear hug. “Sunshine,” she beams at me. “And his high and mighty,” she quirks a brow at Brian. She’s obviously surprised to see us together, but she doesn’t comment. Instead she pushes me into a free booth, “How about some fresh buttermilk pancakes?” 

 

My eyes widen in surprise, “You have buttermilk pancakes?” 

 

“We improved our menu a few years ago,” she informs me and deliberately ignores Brian’s snort. “So, how about them?” 

 

I lick my lips. Four years abroad haven’t hurt my appetite. “With blue-berries?” 

 

Brian groans, and Deb slaps him over the head before she beams at me. “Coming right away. Coffee for you, I suppose.” She sweeps away, not waiting for his answer. 

 

I catch him rolling his eyes and grin. 

 

He frowns, “What?” 

 

“You love her to death.” He couldn’t hide it even if he wanted. 

 

“I’m probably going to kill her one day,” he replies, but there’s such affection in his voice, I have to blink a sudden moisture from my eyes. 

 

“You’re so full of shit, Brian.” 

 

He actually chuckles at that. “So what else is new?” 

 

For a moment I want to leap over the table and into his arms, not caring that we’re right in the middle of the diner, or that other people are watching us. But of course I don’t. Instead I force myself to sit and just look at him. He’s almost thirty-five now, but he doesn’t look a day older than the night I met him. He’s still so breathtakingly beautiful it makes my heart ache. Only his eyes are different, and I realize I didn’t notice it until now. They’re a lot more serious, but they’ve also lost a lot of that haunted look which seemed to be his trademark. At least to me. I think none of the others ever saw it. Or preferred to ignore it. 

 

“Here you go.” Deb’s arrival, plate and cup in hands forces me back to the present and I smile at her. “Eat, Sunshine. They’re fresh and hot.” 

 

I pick up the fork and take a bite, just to please her, but I don’t have to fake the noise of pleasure that escapes my moth. “Wow. They’re great.” 

 

“Don’t I know it. They’re Vic’s.” 

 

I look towards the kitchen, “He’s working here again?” 

 

“No,” she shakes her head. “But he told Cal how to make them.” She nods at the guy at the window. He’s around twenty. Good looking. 

 

I see Brian and he are exchanging a look and raise a brow. Brian simply shrugs. Some things never change. 

 

“Okay, boys, enjoy your …,” she glances at Brian’s coffee, “whatever you have.” With a grin she turns to the next table. “What can I bring you, boys?” 

 

I chuckle and shovel another bite in my mouth. “It’s great. You wanna taste?” 

 

“You want me to puke?” Brian makes a disgusted sound and sips from his coffee instead. 

 

“Yeah,” I grin at him. “I can see how it’s hard with a thirty-five year old stomach.” 

 

His eyes narrow. “Thirty-four. And watch it, little boy.” 

 

I snicker. I feel great. I haven’t felt that good for a long time. I’m not sure if it’s because of Brian, or because of the sessions with Peter. Maybe I’ve really started walking the road to recovery. Which reminds me. “Uhm …,” I mumble around another load of pancake, “about those sessions.” 

 

Brian’s eyes darken at that, something like panic flickers through them, before it’s gone again. “What about them? You feeling okay?” 

 

“Yeah, I’m great. That’s not what I’m talking about. But … uh … I’m not sure how to pay you back. Right now, that is, maybe if I sell a picture or-“ 

 

“Stop right there,” he interrupts. “I’m going to pay for these sessions. We talked about it. I was the one bringing them up in the first place.” 

 

I frown. “Well, yeah … but-“ 

 

“No buts.” His voice is firm. Final. No discussion allowed. “I offered you half a fucking million, Justin. I can afford a few sessions with Peter.” 

 

“He charges 200 an hour.” 

 

He drinks from his coffee, “Nothing new there. And?” 

 

“It just--“ 

 

“I thought we were through with that.” His voice is definitely annoyed now. 

 

I sigh, “It just doesn’t feel right to let you pay for sorting out my fucked up life.” 

 

He lowers his gaze, stares into his coffee, “Just let me do it, okay?” 

 

I’m a little confused at the quietness in his voice. “Brian?” Not contemplating my next move, I put the fork down and reach over the table, touching his hand with mine. His head comes up and I suck in a sharp breath at the expression in his eyes. “It’s not your fault. What Ethan did to me is not your fault.” 

 

He shakes his head, but the expression in his eyes doesn’t change. “I know that.” 

 

“You’re not fucking Superman, Brian. Things actually happen on this planet you have to way of preventing.” 

 

He pulls his hand away, picks up his cup again. “I know. Still … I … let me pay, okay?” 

 

I watch him for a moment, then nod, “Okay. Thanks.” 

 

He nods, then straightens and looks for Debbie, “Can one get a refill around here?” 

 

***** 

 

“You’re going to have to tell her.” 

 

I look at Brian’s profile. We’re sitting in his car in front of my studio, and I just knew he’d bring it up again. I also know he’s a little pissed at the fact that I never want him to pick me up at home, trying to avoid any confrontations with my mother. “I know. I talked to Peter about it.” 

 

He nods, “Good.” 

 

“He offered to do it in his office.” I laugh a little, “Mom doesn’t even know I’m seeing him. Or you for that matter.” 

 

He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Justin-“ 

 

“I know.” I sigh. This is so fucking stupid. “I feel like I’m fifteen years old and hiding a Playboy underneath my mattress.” 

 

He chuckles. “Justin, you never hid a Playboy in your life.” 

 

“No, I didn’t,” I confirm. Large breasts never did it for me. Daphne’s were small. “I was always kind of wondering if large boobs might suffocate you while … you know.” 

 

Brian grins, “How should I know. I have a grand total of three female bed partners. Not something to brag about.” 

 

My eyes go wide, “Three? You fucked three women?” 

 

“Uh-huh.” 

 

“Linds,” I say matter-of-factly. “I know about Lindsay. Who were the others?” 

 

His right brow comes up, “Are you really asking me about the women in my life?” 

 

I shrug, a little bit embarrassed. He had three. Three. “I guess.” 

 

“Linds wasn’t the first. There was a girl in high school. Cathy. We were seventeen. And Lauren. Linds was the last. For a while I think she kind of saw us as a couple.” 

 

I feel myself shudder. “That’s gross.” 

 

He laughs. “Justin. You’re still such a kid.” 

 

“Am not,” I reply indignantly, then think about something. “So you didn’t fuck her for the second kid?” 

 

For a moment he actually looks as if I’m gone completely insane. Then he shakes his head. “Mel would’ve my balls for breakfast if so much as touched her wife.” He pauses, and shudders, “Not that I would want to.” 

 

We share a laugh and for a moment there’s an almost comfortable silence in the car. Then Brian clears his throat. “You want me to pick you up on Friday?” 

 

He leaves out the unspoken part. For your next session. 

 

I swallow. “Could we … I mean,” I have to lick my suddenly dry lips. “How about we see each other for lunch or something?” I really want to see him, I realize. I feel a silly grin bubbling up inside of me, but stop it at the very last moment. Ethan didn’t kill it after all. I still want to be with another man. No, not just any other man. With Brian. 

 

He slowly turns his head, “Like … a date?” 

 

I swallow again. “It doesn’t have to be a date.” 

 

“So, you don’t want a date?” He actually looks a little disappointed. 

 

Disappointed? 

 

“Ah … uh …,” I’m not sure what to say. Brian doesn’t do dates. Or maybe this one does. What do I know? 

 

But he saves me and nods. “Sure. We can see each other.” 

 

I can’t let it go though, “You want us to go out on a date?” 

 

He sighs disgustedly, “Whatever, Justin.” 

 

“I would like to go out on a date.” 

 

Our eyes meet. 

 

And lock. 

 

My heart rate increases when he suddenly leans over and breathes the lightest of kisses on my lips. He’s gone again before I can even start tasting him. But it doesn’t matter. I feel so fucking happy I want to shout. 

 

“How about I give you call?” He looks at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. 

 

“Yeah. You have the number of my cell?” 

 

“Sure. You want me to pick you up at the studio?” 

 

I swallow again. It’s now or never. If I ever want to have my life back, I have to start somewhere. I can’t go on like this forever. “How about,” I have to lick my lips again, and clear my throat, it feels so fucking dry. God, I’m such a sad bastard. For a moment I wish Ethan was here and I could beat him up. “How about you pick me up at home?” 

 

Surprise flickers through his eyes, before he smiles, “I’ll call you.” 

 

I fumble with the seat belt for a moment, but then it’s gone and I climb from the car, gazing at him from the door. “Thank you, Brian.” 

 

He rolls his eyes, still unable to deal with gratitude. “Yeah. Sure.” 

 

I smile. “Later,” I whisper and slam the door shut. 

 

I can’t hear his response but I still know what it is. “Later”. I can read it on his lips. I watch him drive away and it’s five minutes before I realize I’m still standing in the same spot. With a sigh I turn towards my studio. Maybe even fucked up lives can take a turn for the better.


	8. Charade

I hear the voices the moment Molly Taylor opens the door, grinning at me a little sheepishly. “Brian … ah … Hi.” Stepping back, she lets me inside the house, and the voices grow louder. 

 

I recognize Justin’s, angry, but tightly controlled, and Jennifer’s, high-pitched, and slightly bordering on hysteria. Well, nothing new there. Feeling as if I need to say something, I look down at the teenager. “Trouble?” 

 

Her brows draw together, and her nose scrunches in the same way her brother’s does, when he isn’t comfortable with a situation. But she tells me nevertheless, “Justin told Mom he was going out with you – and she freaked.” She pauses, then adds on a thought, “Sort of.” 

 

The voices become more distinctive now and I hear Justin. “Are you concerned because I’m going out on a date, or because the date is with Brian?” 

 

For a moment there is silence, then Jennifer replies, “It’s not exactly a secret that I’m not very fond of the idea of you two together. Brian hurt you so much, honey. It still breaks my heart thinking about it.” 

 

“We hurt each other. I was cheating on him.” This from Justin again, and I have to admit his honesty surprises me a little. But then, he did cheat on me. Went against his own rules. Not that it’s really important anymore. 

 

“He never treated you the way he should have.” And of course Jennifer finds an excuse even for that. The problem is, she’s at least partially right. I never treated him very well. It’s no excuse that I didn’t know better. If I was more honest with myself I would say I treated him like shit most of the time. 

 

“He never promised anything. I made up some rules. He stuck to them. I didn’t.” 

 

I hear Jennifer sigh. “Yes, yes, you told me that. Still…” 

 

That’s when Molly clears her throat loudly to announce my presence in the house. Instantly the voices fade, and a moment later Justin appears in the hall, his face pale, his eyes still dark with suppressed anger. 

 

“Hey,” he says, and forces a smile. 

 

“Hey,” I reply, not sure what to say. 

 

But I’m saved from any further words when Jennifer appears in the hall. She wears casual clothes, but her whole demeanor can only be described as regal. She holds her head high, and her eyes see every detail. There is no smile on her face when she greets me. “Hello, Brian.” 

 

“Good Evening, Mrs. Taylor,” I reply, summoning all the politeness of which I’m capable. There’s enough distress in Justin’s life already. He doesn’t need me to add any more. And certainly not tonight. 

 

Justin looks at me strangely, his brows furrowed, “Weren’t you on first name terms already?” 

 

I only shrug at that, and ignore the way Jennifer raises her brows. “So,” I look at him. “Are you ready?” It’s a dumb question, because he looks good enough to eat. He’s wearing dark brown corduroy pants and a beige sweater that looks incredible in contrast to his expressive eyes. They seem even more blue than usual tonight. Or maybe I’m just biased. But who cares? 

 

“Sure,” he manages another quick smile. “I’ll be right back.” He turns and sprints up the stairs leaving me, Jennifer and Molly on our own. 

 

For a moment silence reigns, then Jennifer sighs. “I suppose there’s nothing I can do to convince you to stay away from him?” 

 

I look at her for a moment, then let my tongue wander into my cheek. “You still think I’m the devil incarnate, don’t you?” 

 

Her brows draw together, and she suddenly remembers her daughter’s presence, “Molly, darling. Please go to your room.” 

 

But Molly-darling isn’t the little girl she once was. No, she is a teenager, and in true fashion her chin comes up, and eyes blaze. “No.” 

 

Jennifer’s eyes widen at that, and I can see anger entering them. I wonder if she even knows how much her daughter resembles her. Molly looks like a younger version. 

 

“I really don’t think it’s the time and place to discuss this,” I try to save the situation, but Jennifer’s obviously having none of it. 

 

Giving her daughter a disapproving look, she sharpens her gaze on me once again. “You were always good in avoiding things you didn’t want to face.” Her voice is like a whip. “Right, Brian?” 

 

“Mom!” Justin stands at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes on his mother in a mixture of anger and pleading. “Please, don’t.” 

 

For a moment it looks as if she might give in, but then she once again straightens her shoulders and shakes her head, “No, it has to be said.” 

 

“No, Mom,” Justin tells her sharply. “Stay out of this.” 

 

In an instant her face softens, and she’s the Jennifer Taylor I remember. The one I admired for sticking to her son no matter what, for ending her marriage when her husband wasn’t prepared to do the same. The woman who pleaded with me to stay away from Justin so he wouldn’t get hurt again. There was love in her eyes then, understanding, where now I can only see a self-righteousness I wish I could ignore. 

 

Unfortunately I’m not that kind of man. I was never one for offering the other cheek. Especially not where Justin is concerned. Jennifer might be ignorant about it, but I have seen the scars on his chest, and I can still see the shadows in his eyes. Shadows I didn’t put there this time, but the wonderful Ethan, the guy who seems to have her wrapped around his little finger – even dead. 

 

“How?” Her voice is as soft as her eyes. “You’re my son. I love you. I won’t stand aside and let him hurt you again. Not this time.” 

 

And suddenly something inside of me snaps. And I want to kick myself afterwards, but the words are out so quickly, I can’t stop them. “That’s really rich, Jennifer. Especially after what he’s been through with Ethan. So tell me, did you just close your eyes when the fiddler beat the shit out of Justin or are you really that ignorant? Because, let me tell you something. It doesn’t make you the mother of the year, missing the signs all these years.” 

 

It’s deathly quiet afterwards. Molly’s gaze darts back and forth between us, her eyes wide and tinged with curiosity, while Jennifer stares at me in complete shock. I don’t dare look at Justin, not after the way I just betrayed his trust. For a moment I just want to bury myself, close my eyes and disappear. But I’m still Brian Kinney and was never one to hide. I certainly won’t start now. 

 

“What is he talking about?” 

 

Jennifer’s voice is tightly controlled and even though she’s looking at me, I know she’s talking to Justin. And so I finally force myself to turn my head, and the air leaves my lungs with a loud woosh when I see Justin standing at the stairs, his left hand clawing the banister, his knuckles white. Almost as white as his face where the blue of his eyes now seems oddly prominent. A muscle twitches in his right cheek and his mouth is slightly opened, the breath leaving his lips in puffs. 

 

I feel as if I need to say something, but for the life of me can’t find a word that’s not wrong right now. 

 

“Justin?” 

 

The blonde’s fingers tighten even more around the banister, and words seem to fail him, too. His eyes dart to me, but there’s no anger in them, just fear. Plain, deep fear. And a helplessness that tears my heart. 

 

God, I’m so sorry, I want to tell him. But sorry’s bullshit, so I bite my tongue. What could sorry help now? It can’t undo what words spoken in anger have caused. There is no sorry that could help. There is no going back. Just moving forward. 

 

“Jennifer-,” I start, but she cuts me off immediately, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. 

 

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Her voice is like a whip. “Justin, what is he talking about?” 

 

And suddenly I know what I have to do. There’s only one way to help him now. After the mess I just caused it’s my duty to sweep the floor – metaphorically speaking of course. 

 

“But you will fucking listen to me now,” I tell her, keeping my words even, yet laced with so much sharpness that she can’t miss how serious I am. Instantly her head snaps back to me, her eyes blazing, but before she can say anything, I continue, “Ethan wasn’t the loving boyfriend you obviously thought he was. And his and Justin’s relationship wasn’t all love and flowers. The truth is …” 

 

For a moment my voice falters, my whole being is shrinking away from the words I have to say, somehow making the truth even more horrible than it is already. Knowing about the abuse is one thing, talking about it makes it a lot more real. But then I think about the scars on Justin’s chest. It can’t get more real than that, can it? 

 

Taking a deep breath I force myself to go on. “The truth is … Ethan was a sick bastard who thought it was amusing to abuse his partner.” I have to pause again before delivering the worst blow. “A partner who put up with it because-“ 

 

“Brian!” 

 

Justin’s sharp cry pierces right into my soul, and the words die in my throat. Our eyes meet, and hold. His are pleading with me, and there’s no way I can ignore this plea. No way I can turn away from those blue eyes that seem to bore into me. Helpless, I look at him, not sure what to do now. And it’s Jennifer who brings us back to the matter at hand. 

 

“Ethan … Ethan hit you?” Her voice is incredulous and shocked at the same time, and when I finally manage to tear my gaze away from Justin, I see that her eyes are as well. Her lips are trembling ever so slightly, “B-but … you … you seemed so happy.” 

 

“Happy?” And now it’s Justin who obviously can’t keep it together anymore. Not that I blame him. After what he’s been through, to hear from the mouth of your own mother that you’ve been ‘so happy’ – no wonder he couldn’t pretend anymore. “Happy?” he echoes the word again. Then suddenly starts to laugh, but it’s not a natural laugh, it almost borders on hysterical. No surprises there either. 

 

“Justin.” Pressing a hand over her mouth, Jennifer takes a step towards her son, but instinctively I grab her arm to stop her. Touching him right now would be the worst she could do. I expect resentment for my intervention, but instead she simply looks at me, her eyes luminous, and there’s something else. It’s hard to notice, but maybe two years with Peter Gray gave me a lot more insight than I used to have. Something deep inside of her, probably the core of being a mother, has been shattered. 

 

I wish I could care. But I just don’t have it in me. Not when my dreams are plagued with images of Justin being raped, and tortured, of meaty hands touching him, not caring that he doesn’t want to be touched. I wish I could feel pity for her. But I don’t. Can’t. 

 

“Justin,” I say quietly. “You don’t need to do this.” 

 

He stares at me, and shakes his head, “But don’t you see? It’s too late anyway.” His voice is without any emotion and that’s almost worse than if he were to scream and shout. 

 

“Justin, honey-“ 

 

“Shut up!” he suddenly screams at her. “Just shut up. You know nothing. You don’t know anything.” 

 

“Oh God,” his mother moans as if she’s in pain. There’s a part of me that feels a perverse satisfaction at seeing her like this. This is the woman who did nothing, who looked away or at least didn’t look close enough. 

 

“You want to know what he did to me?” Without warning he pulls his pullover over his head, exposing his bare chest, and the scars that seem exceptionally prominent tonight. They never looked that bad before. Maybe because he’s recently showered, or it’s the light in the hall, who knows? Fact is, they are plainly visible – and there’s no mistaking them for anything but what they are. 

 

Jennifer makes a noise in her throat as if she wants to throw up, but it’s Molly’s shocked little outcry that reminds us all of the fact that there’s another person with us. 

 

Justin blinks, then focuses on his sister. “Molly? Moll … I’m …” He shakes his head, helpless to control the emotions seizing him. 

 

Realizing that neither Jennifer nor Justin can deal with this right now, I turn towards the teenager. “Molly, why don’t you go upstairs for now?” 

 

“No,” she looks at me with renewed stubbornness. “What … happened to Justin?” 

 

I close my eyes for a moment, steeling myself against what I need to do. Steadying myself with several deep breaths I reach out and touch her hair. “Ethan … Ethan hurt your brother. Badly. But it has nothing to do with the fact that Justin is gay, Molly.” Somehow it seems necessary to make that very clear for her. “Ethan was … he wasn’t normal. He was … I think he needed to be treated, by a psychotherapist. But … we’ll probably never know.” 

 

She clearly struggles with what I said, but it’s obviously hard for her to understand. “Ethan … Ethan did that?” She points at Justin’s chest that heaves with ragged breaths. Sweat is on Justin’s face and neck, and he’s biting his lower lip. 

 

“Yes,” I say gently, taking her hand, terrified that I’m doing this all wrong. What if the way I’m handling the situation is scarring her for life? But then … after she’s seen the scars, what could be worse? At least I’m trying to make her understand. 

 

God, I wish Peter Gray was here. He would know what would be the right thing to do. He would have the answers I’m so desperately trying to find. I’m a bloody amateur at this, finding my way through a minefield. At least that’s the way I feel. 

 

“W-why … did you let him do this?” Jennifer finally asks the question I’ve been waiting for. 

 

There’s no answer coming from Justin. He’s still standing at the banister, one hand curled around it tightly again, his upper body bare, the scars painting horrible patterns on it. They don’t mar his beauty, in a way they increase it, even, make it more real, less flawless. But they’re still reminders of what was done to him, and only because of that I wish they weren’t there. Because that would mean the pain he endured wasn’t either. And I’d give almost everything to make that happen. Knowing I can’t makes me sad and furious at once. But like so many other things, I’ve learned to accept it. I can’t change it anyway. 

 

Justin slightly shakes his head, as if he’s trying to clear his mind, but he doesn’t seem to be able to. So it’s again up to me to explain. Making eye contact with Justin, I wait for any protest, and when nothing comes forth, I turn to Jennifer with a sigh. “He never told you because … you owed Ethan money. And Justin would do nothing to endanger your business, and through it yours and Molly’s futures. That’s just the way he is. You should know that by now.” 

 

She stares at me for a moment, then shakes her head emphatically, denial written all over her face. “No. Ethan would never-“ 

 

And suddenly I don’t care anymore. I’ve just had about enough of this ‘Ethan the wonderful’ shit. Grabbing her arm with more force than necessary, not caring that I’m probably hurting her, I pull her close so that her face is only inches away from mine. “Listen to me, Jennifer. Ethan wasn’t what he seemed to be. He was a lying, abusive little piece of shit. And if you weren’t as oblivious as you were, or might have bothered to open your eyes, Justin would have been able to escape the hell his relationship was. But as it was, he endured it. For you. For Molly. He even suffered through Hollis raping him and never said a word.” 

 

I breathe heavily when I’m done, feeling sick and nauseous and ready for a whole bottle of Jim Beam, and maybe a few pills in it. 

 

Jennifer’s eyes are wide, “What … Hollis … you mean …” She shakes her head, weakly this time. Not in denial, but in complete shock. I can feel her arm trembling under my grip, see her swallow. Once. Twice. Then she licks her lips. “Hollis … r-raped … Jus…” Suddenly her whole body convulses and she presses a hand over her lips in order to stop her stomach emptying its contents on the floor. 

 

I let go of her with disgust, and realize with mild surprise that I also feel sorry for her for the first time tonight. Her wonderful world just crumpled at her feet. It must be hell. But then I think of Justin and my heart turns to stone, while my mind focuses on him. 

 

He still hasn’t moved, and I’m instantly alarmed when I see his unfocussed gaze, the paleness of his face and lips, the eyes intensely blue because the pupils are only two tiny spots as if he’s drugged, barely visible at all. His breath is coming in short, panting gasps. 

 

Forgetting about Molly and Jennifer for the moment, I take a cautious step closer. “Justin.” I speak his name tentatively, gently, afraid to shatter him with my voice only. The state he is in now is completely terrifying for me, and again I wish Peter was here. 

 

Peter. 

 

With a sudden, almost startling awareness, I pull the cell phone from my pocket and dial Peter’s number. I needed it so often when we started the therapy, I’ve memorized it. Shit, why didn’t I think of this before? I can hear it ring and finally he’s there. 

 

“Peter.” 

 

“Brian?” I hear the barely disguised surprise, then the instant concern. “Is something wrong?” 

 

God, I love the guy. If he wasn’t my therapist we would be friends. Real good friends. His voice alone makes me feel better. “Peter. Something happened. I’m here with Justin and his family.” I pause, and need to take a deep breath before I can go on, never taking my eyes from Justin the whole time. “His mom knows.” 

 

Silence. Then an almost inaudible. “Shit. What happened?” 

 

“It’s my fault. I blurted it out. I was … angry.” 

 

He sighs, he already knows me too well. “Okay. How is he?” 

 

“Not good. He seems … far away somehow. I’m not sure what … what to do.” 

 

“Not responsive at all?” I can almost hear him frown. It’s there in his voice, and I know it’s not good. “That’s bad.” Bingo. Didn’t I just say it? “Listen. Don’t do anything. Give me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I recite the address of Jennifer’s house. “Okay,” he replies. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And Brian … you owe me for this.” 

 

“Hot date?” I don’t know how I can even attempt to make a joke, but somehow Peter always does that to me. Even the worst situation seems less terrifying if he’s part of it. 

 

“I’m not telling. But you owe me big time.” With that he’s gone. I push the phone back in my pocket and glance at the clock on the table in the corner. Twenty minutes have never seemed longer.


	9. Charade

When I was still a student at college, I used to spend my holidays at the mental hospital in my home town, assisting one of the resident therapists. I learned a lot from him. He was gay too, and believe me when I tell you that being gay, especially in his profession, wasn’t like anything you can imagine. We were living in a small town where people knew each other, and even the faintest rumor of him being gay would’ve destroyed Walter’s career. There were a lot of people who couldn’t imagine that you could be gay and not molest their child. 

 

Walter had just turned forty when I met him, and had the most startling green eyes I’d ever seen. And yes, we fucked. Quite a lot, actually. He was the one who introduced me to the fun you can have with sex toys, and there was this especially wicked dildo with rubber spikes … 

 

But I’m drifting off here. The most intense memory I have of him was a Sunday in December, just a few days after Christmas. I’d returned home once again, and we’d celebrated our reunion with a night of pleasure. In the morning he was called to an emergency situation. A father had lost it, shot his wife, and was now holding his two kids hostage. The police wanted Walter to talk to him, to convince him to let the children go. Walter went into the house, and succeeded. But when the children came out we heard two shots. The man had killed my lover and then himself. 

 

I needed years to get over the trauma of that day. Becoming a good therapist helped. Knowing that I was able to help other people was like balm to the nightmares that still haunted me. The worst, however, was that I realized I loved Walter only after he was killed. He wasn’t just a fuck for me, he was a lot more. And I knew I’d never get the opportunity to tell him. I sometimes wonder if that’s the reason I haven’t found anyone special so far. But I’ve learned that losing myself in self-pity doesn’t help and that accepting what cannot be changed is the only way to go. 

 

The reason I remember that particular incident right now is that the scene I find in Justin’s home reminds me of that day. Not that I was actually inside of the house. Walter went on his own, died on his own. But of course I’ve spent nights imagining what had happened there, and now I’m suddenly confronted with this. 

 

Brian greets me at the door. He quite obviously waited there for my car. He gives me a grateful, but fleeting, smile before he leads me inside. A woman, Jennifer Taylor, Brian explains, is sitting on a chair, weeping silently, while a teenager, Molly, stands in the corner, watching everything with wide, confused eyes. 

 

But it’s Justin who instantly draws all my attention. He sits on the stairs, his back against the wall, knees drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. His face doesn’t show any emotion, and the blue eyes seem unfocussed, staring at nothing I can see. 

 

Sighing inwardly, I turn to Brian. His gaze is on Justin as well, concern darkening his impossibly beautiful eyes. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not falling for him or anything. But a guy can look, can’t he? Besides, one look into those eyes and a blind man would see that nobody will have a chance with Brian for a long time. The guy may not know it yet, but he’s sold for good. Not that I could blame him. Justin Taylor is a beauty, too. I can imagine the heads turning when those two step into a room. And the hard ons. 

 

I have to grin a little at the thought, but quickly push it down, and ask, “So, what exactly happened here?” 

 

Running a slightly shaky hand through his hair, Brian releases a quick breath, “I … Justin and I had a date. When I arrived, he and his mother had an argument. She said some pretty … stupid things, I guess. And I snapped.” 

 

I can’t help rolling my eyes, “Yeah, yeah, the Brian Kinney temper won again.” 

 

He looks sheepish, “I guess. Look, I … I don’t care that she knows.” He jerks his head at Jennifer. “She needed to know sooner or later. And Molly seems to be okay. But he…” His eyes finally settle back on the unmoving figure at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m out of my league here.” 

 

“I’ll say,” I reply dryly. “And he’s been like this since when?” 

 

“At first he was normal,” Brian tells me. “Well, as normal as he can be regarding … Anyway. Jennifer said something, and he started to laugh, hysterically. And suddenly it was over. He stopped talking all together. Stopped reacting. Then he sank down on the floor and he’s been like this…” His voice sounds shaky for a moment, and he needs a few seconds to pull himself together, before he goes on. “Can you … help him?” 

 

For a moment I’m tempted to give him a haughty look. How can he doubt my professional abilities after what we’ve gone through together the past two years? Of course that’s just my vanity talking. And Brian’s eyes are too desperate to allow any jokes. So instead of tossing a snotty remark at him, I put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it quickly. “I’ll try my best. Maybe you could take care of the sister for now?” I see panic flare in his eyes and have to chuckle, “I don’t expect you to actually do anything. But how about convincing Jennifer to make some dinner for her?” 

 

After a moment he nods and I instantly forget about the other people around me when I tentatively approach Justin. He still hasn’t moved, still stares into distance. Moving very slowly so as not to startle him, I lower myself on the first stair as well and fold my hands in my lap. You have to be very careful to touch someone in a state like this. 

 

“Hello, Justin,” I say quietly. “It’s me. Peter.” 

 

Nothing. It doesn’t really bother me. I didn’t expect anything else. “Brian called me. He said, he did something stupid.” I chuckle, “It’s typical for him, don’t you think?” 

 

One of the first things I learned from Walter was the soothing capacity of a human voice. Talk to them, he used to tell me. Talking to someone can be magic. A lot of people don’t talk enough. I’ve kept the advice close to my heart, and it has proven right ever since. 

 

“Brian’s not a bad guy. He just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, sometimes.” I have to grin at the snort from behind my back, but I keep on talking. “Justin, your mother and sister are gone.” I can hardly believe they left without any further protest. I don’t know Jennifer Taylor at all, but at first sight she made the impression of someone who doesn’t take kindly to being ushered out of a room. Especially if the room in question is in her own house. 

 

As if sensing my surprise, Brian says, “Molly’s a real champ. She insisted she was ravenous.” He chuckles, “I didn’t believe one word she was saying.” 

 

“Maybe she’s just another victim to your charms,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the blond young man in front of me. He still hasn’t moved, but the eyes seem a little less distant now. “I know I told you,” I tell him, “that you could tell your mom in my office. But frankly, I’m glad she knows. Sure, it’s a shock, but she doesn’t seem to be the kind of woman who breaks easily. I don’t know her all that well, but she makes quite an impression.” Even tear-streaked, and quite obviously shattered by the news, I just knew she would pull through. After all this is the woman who dumped her husband because he wouldn’t accept the fact that his son was gay. 

 

I turn my head, look at Brian and with a nod, encourage him to participate in the conversation. For a moment he looks helpless, but then he sits down beside me. “She’s a tough one, your mom.” His voice is a little hoarse and he clears his throat, “Remember when she insisted I mustn’t see you again? She never raised her voice, never shouted at me, but she made it perfectly clear what was most important to her. That you were safe. I wish my mother would have cared enough to do something like that.” 

 

I smile at him, then almost jump when Justin suddenly speaks. “That’s why you were angry in the car.” He looks at Brian, and something passes between them. A shared memory. 

 

“Care to fill me in?” I ask, looking back and forth between them. 

 

Justin shrugs, “It’s not important. I just … remembered.” His voice is very small, almost like that of a frightened little kid. But he’s talking, and his eyes have lost that distant look. Mrs. Taylor probably wouldn’t agree, but I prefer that he’s focused on Brian now. 

 

“You were a brat that day.” Brian smiles slightly, before his gaze flickers to me, his eyes asking for some kind of permission. Not understanding at first, I frown, but then I see his hand move and realize he wants to know if he can touch Justin. I nod and a second later he tentatively reaches out, only the tips of his fingers brushing over the back of Justin’s hand, asking for permission for a second time. The blond seems startled for a moment, but then he turns his hand and the two men’s fingers entwine, the one the anchor for the other. I don’t know if they even understand the depth that lies within the simple gesture. 

 

His eyes still on Brian, Justin speaks again. “She … she said that I looked happy. She is my mother, she looked me in the eyes all these years and thought I was happy.” 

 

“It’s only natural, Justin,” I tell him. “A lot of people create their own dreamworld. Simply blocking out the bad stuff. Especially in a case like your mom’s. She’s been through a lot with you. Her marriage failed, and you got bashed. She almost lost both men in her life. Things like these change people. Who can blame her for trying to believe you were finally happy and safe?” 

 

“Nobody, I guess,” he whispers, guilt flickering over his pale features. 

 

“No,” Brian says instantly. “Stop making it your fault again.” 

 

“But-“ 

 

“Brian is right,” I intervene. “You did nothing to make it happen, Justin. Your father had problems with your sexual orientation? It’s his problem. He’s the adult. You were only a teenager then. Your mother chose to stick by you. Good for her. And the bashing? You did nothing to invite Chris Hobbs to swing that bat.” I smile when I realize he’s listening intently, because I know the voice has done it again. He’s coming around. Thank you, Walter. 

 

“I … I know,” the blond replies. “But even though it’s not my fault, I didn’t want to give her more grief.” 

 

“Yes, I know.” I smile at him. “You’re a good son.” 

 

“The best.” Jennifer’s voice from the kitchen door is hesitant and unsure, and I turn my smile at her. 

 

“Hello. I’m Peter Gray. I’m Justin’s therapist.” 

 

“Oh,” she is surprised, and I realize that she didn’t even know Justin is seeing me. “I … I’m Jennifer.” 

 

“Hello, Jennifer. Justin, Brian and I just talked about you. We came to the conclusion that you’re tough. Well, Brian said you were.” 

 

Her gaze turns to the man beside me, and their eyes meet for a moment. A myriad of emotions flicker through Jennifer’s. Surprise. Distrust. Doubt. And also the slightest trace of pleasure and pride. It’s not much, but maybe it’s a start. 

 

“Where’s Moll?” Justin wants to know. 

 

“I called her friend, Emily. She’s staying with her for the night. Her mom just picked Molly up. At the back door,” she adds as a matter of explanation, for my sake I suppose. “I told her I would explain everything tomorrow.” She smiles hesitantly, “If I manage to understand it myself by then, that is.” 

 

“That’s a good idea,” I tell her, and she smiles, pleased with my approval. Tell the people you’re a therapist and they think you’ve got the recipe for everything. It’s never ceased to amaze me, when in fact we’re as helpless as all of them. At least most of the time. 

 

“How … how about we move to the living room?” Jennifer suggests. “It must be terribly uncomfortable down there.” 

 

“It’s okay.” Brian’s voice is perfectly civil, almost friendly even, but because I’ve known him for quite a while now, I can still hear the underlying traces of hostility. He told me a lot about his relationship with Jennifer Taylor, so it doesn’t surprise me at all. Still, this whole thing would be a lot easier if he could lay his grudges to rest. But this is Brian Kinney. And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that forgiving isn’t something he can do easily. It’s part of his problem, maybe the biggest part, and even though we’ve worked on it, we’re nowhere near done. 

 

He still has a hard time understanding that by refusing to forgive the people who hurt him, he’s hurting himself more than anyone else. That forgiving would free him, would finally allow him to leave the past behind him and move on. I know this sounds easy. But I’ve been there myself. Only when I forgave the man who shot Walter was I able to regain a positive outlook on life. Still, it was years until I recognized the truth. Before that I suffered, hating not only everyone, but myself most of all. 

 

Brian is past that point, fortunately, but a lot of his problems with opening up, facing feelings, letting other people close, are based on the anger he still harbors. 

 

“Thanks for the offer, Jennifer,” I reply with a smile, eager to keep things nice and easy between her and Brian tonight. “Justin?” I turn back to my patient. “Do you want to go into the living room? It might be more comfortable there.” 

 

He looks at me almost startled, then at his mother, and finally nods. “Yeah. Maybe … We could talk? Together?” 

 

Ever thought that being a therapist is a really shitty profession? Let me tell you, you’re right. I planned a nice and cozy evening with this bloke I met last weekend in a bar. We instantly hit it off, spent a few very pleasant hours and because we both enjoyed it immensely we made a date for tonight. Enter Justin Taylor. Of course I can’t refuse to come in an emergency like this. And I don’t really mind. But there’s still that nagging knowledge that the night could’ve been a lot more relaxing. I can only hope Brad checked his voicemail. If not, he’s going to stand in front of a closed door, probably right now deciding that even the greatest sex isn’t worth all this shit. 

 

But then I look at Justin’s large blue eyes and remember why I chose this life. Because helping people, easing their pain, is a very satisfying experience. It makes you sleep well, and you usually don’t mind looking at yourself in the mirror in the morning. The problem is, sometimes you actually want to be yourself, and the job has the nasty habit if intruding when it’s least wanted. And even though it’s satisfying on a higher level, it can leave you damned unsatisfied somewhere else. 

 

“Are you coming?” 

 

Sighing silently to myself, I stifle a groan when I hear my joints crack while standing up. God, I’m getting old. I’m not even forty, but sometimes I feel ancient. Probably no surprise after listening to people for almost twelve years. Walter always seemed so … young. I remember those startling green eyes, almost blinding me with their optimism. I was glad they were closed when I saw him lying in the house. I don’t think I would’ve been able to see them dead, barren of life. 

 

“Sure,” I smile at Jennifer. “Justin?” 

 

But there’s no need to worry about him right now. Brian stands up first, and keeping their hands entwined pulls Justin with him in the process. For a moment they simply stand together. Then Justin releases a little sigh, before leaning his forehead against Brian’s chest, his face relaxing when the brunette runs his free hand through the blond hair, a caress so tender and loving, for a moment my breath catches in my throat. 

 

How can Brian actually think he isn’t able to love? 

 

Maybe he should just watch himself from time to time. Especially around Justin. 

 

“You okay?” he whispers, letting go of the hair and pulling the smaller man close. 

 

Justin nods in response, his face rubbing up and down Brian’s chest. “Yeah. I’ll manage. You’re right, you know. She needed to know.” 

 

“Maybe,” Brian admits slowly. “Still I wish I could keep my temper in check sometimes.” 

 

The blond chuckles, “Then you wouldn’t be you. And I-“ He stops abruptly and pulls back a little, finally looking up at Brian. “Let’s go.” 

 

The older man nods, and with their hands entwined they follow Jennifer. 

 

With a sigh, I do the same.


	10. Charade

It feels awkward sitting in my own living room, staring into space, feeling too afraid to look at anyone. The worst part is, however, that I actually have no idea what to say to Justin. I’m not surprised I don’t find words for Brian or Peter. The one is a stranger, and the other probably, too. But I never thought I would feel like this with my own son. Yes, I was helpless before, when he came back from the hospital, and didn’t want me to touch him. When he refused me and wanted Brian instead. It confused me and it hurt. But I still knew what to say, what to do to help him. How am I supposed to help him now? 

 

I look at Peter, and he smiles. He has kind eyes, soft and understanding, inviting you to reveal your darkest secrets. I suppose that’s what makes him so good at his job. He has to be good, otherwise Brian wouldn’t trust him. One thing I learned about Brian Kinney? He only goes for the best. It’s pretty obvious that Peter knows Brian well, that he is Brian’s therapist too. 

 

I’m still reeling from the fact that Justin went to his office and never told me about it. How far must we have grown apart that he didn’t tell me, didn’t trust me? And what does it say about Brian that he obviously trusted him? What kind of mother am I that I never suspected a thing? Or did I? Did I see things, and just block them out, not wanting to see that something was wrong with Ethan and my son? No, I can’t deal with that right now, can’t deal with the idea of me purposely ignoring the facts. I’m not that ignorant. I love my child. I would never … 

 

“Well,” Peter’s voice interrupts my thoughts and once again I feel myself caught up in his kind eyes. “Who wants to say something? Nobody? How about you, Jennifer?” He smiles encouragingly at me. 

 

A little startled by his words, I lace my fingers together. “Me? W-what do you want me to say?” 

 

He laughs a little. “Whatever you want. Don’t you have questions?” 

 

My gaze snaps to my son, but Justin isn’t looking at me. He’s leaning against Brian, his face buried in the other man’s chest. Trust. That’s the word instantly coming to my mind. And it cuts right through my heart. It should be me he’s leaning on. Instead he chose Brian. Because he trusted him and not me. 

 

The truth burns like acid in my guts. I am the woman who carried you in her womb, who raised you, who loved you, who held your hand when you were sick. I am the woman who kicked out her husband because he couldn’t deal with your sexuality. I am your mother, dammit. You should come to me, should talk to me. Instead you lean on him. The man who let you go without a fight, who kicked you out, who fucks everything that moves. And you choose him! Why? 

 

I want to shout at my son, want to shake him, wake him, tell him that he’s choosing the wrong person – again. That he’s making the same mistakes again. That he’s trusting the one who can’t be trusted, that there are better and more worthy like … 

 

My stomach almost turns over at that. More worthy like who? Ethan? The man who … 

 

God, I can’t even think it, how am I supposed to say it? 

 

And still I want to hit Brian, want to push his protective arm away. This is my son, I want to shout. I know what’s best for him. Go away. Just go and leave us alone. We don’t need anyone. And the last person we need is you. But Justin obviously doesn’t think that way and I have a feeling that there is nothing I can do to change that. 

 

Not able to look at my son and Brian any longer, I search for Peter’s eyes again, finding him looking at me expectantly. What did he ask? If I had questions? Do I have any? “I … I don’t … know. Maybe … Ethan really hit my son?” 

 

I hear Brian snort, but ignore him. I can’t deal with him on top of everything else. I still don’t want him here, don’t want him with Justin. Yet, he’s here, and I know he won’t go away. This time he won’t trust me to do what’s best for my son. And I’m not really surprised. I haven’t been all that trustworthy lately. 

 

“Yes,” Peter says gently. “Among other things.” 

 

His eyes are very serious and I think about the scars I saw on Justin’s chest. Burns. I feel a bitter taste in my mouth and realize that my stomach is revolting against the truth they’re telling. It’s revolting against a lot of things tonight. “He … tortured him?” Again I make it a question, even though I know the answer already. 

 

“He was a twisted bastard.” It’s Brian now, and I slowly turn my head. Surprisingly there’s no accusation in his eyes. They’re cold, hard. And I know I’m the last person on his mind right now. He’s thinking about Ethan, and I realize with a sudden startling insight that maybe it’s good Ethan is dead. Otherwise Brian might have ended up with a lifelong sentence. “He got off playing games with your son. Justin,” he pauses, tightens his arm around my son, holding him close, “hasn’t told me everything. But my imagination is pretty good.” 

 

I’ll bet. There can’t be a lot Brian Kinney hasn’t seen. I once tried to guess the number of his lovers. It left me speechless. “You … you said, Ethan raped him? And …,” I have to swallow, my mouth like acid, “Hollis?” That’s something I can’t quite wrap my mind around. Greg Hollis raped my son? 

 

“Yes,” Justin answers quietly. “It was another of Ethan’s games.” 

 

“But …,” I reach out, and gasp when Justin flinches away from me, deeper into Brian’s embrace, “why didn’t you tell me?” I can’t help the tears welling up. He doesn’t want me to touch him. Yet, he seeks Brian’s arms, his body. After all that happened between those two, he still wants Brian Kinney, still trusts Brian Kinney. Brian Kinney who can’t even remember the thousands of lovers he had. Brian Kinney, for whom Justin was just one amongst many. 

 

“You owed him money,” my son says, his voice low, almost without any emotion. As if he’s merely stating facts. “I caused so many problems for you. And you were so proud of me. Of my relationship with Ethan. I could never do that to you.” 

 

This is about the money? And Justin wanted to protect me? 

 

Oh God! 

 

Biting my lower lip until I taste blood, I still can’t quite suppress the sob that tears from my throat. I was a bad mother. A very bad one. What other explanation is there for what he just said? If I was worth a penny, he would’ve been able to come to me. 

 

“It’s not your fault, Jennifer.” Peter’s voice is very warm, very comforting. “Don’t try to make it your fault.” 

 

“Of course it’s her fault,” Brian says angrily. “At least partially. I’m not saying she’s responsible for what Ethan did. But-” 

 

“No,” Justin interrupts. “It’s not her fault. It’s mine. I let him do this. I didn’t fight.” He pulls away from Brian, and looks at him. 

 

“And why?” Peter asks, watching the two men intently. 

 

“Because,” Justin frowns and shakes his head. “I … I’m not sure.” 

 

“Science says that people who were abused, often, deep down, think they earned what’s done to them. I don’t know if I agree completely with this statement, but there is certainly some truth in it,” Peter states quietly. “Do you think you earned being treated like that?” 

 

“NO!” Justin denies hotly, surging to his feet, but instantly sinking back down. “I … I…” 

 

Peter changes the subject, or so I think at first. “Do you feel guilty for something?”, he asks. 

 

“My parents got a divorce,” Justin states after a moment of consideration. 

 

And suddenly I feel anger underneath all the sadness that threatens to consume me. Anger towards Craig, the selfish bastard, for deserting his son, for making him feel this way. Not able to stand Justin’s torture any longer, I exclaim, “That’s not your fault. Never was. Your father was a grown up person. He couldn’t deal with the situation. He made his own bed, so to speak.” 

 

My son only shrugs, and allows Brian to wrap his arm around his shoulders again. It’s amazing to see how natural they are with each other. Brian seems to know exactly what to do or say, seems to feel Justin’s emotions as if they were his own. I don’t know why I never saw it before. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. And what kind of mother does that make me? 

 

I was always so proud that I put my children’s needs before my own. Didn’t I show it again and again, what an unselfish person I was? Didn’t I kick out my own husband because of Justin? But suddenly I don’t feel so selfless anymore. And it hurts. It hurts almost unbearably. 

 

“So what?” Brian looks at Peter. “Justin feels guilty for his parents divorce. Rational or not, you actually think it’s enough for him to let Ethan beat him up like this?” He snorts, making it perfectly clear that he doesn’t believe a word of it. And frankly, I do have my doubts, too. Justin felt guilty before. I knew that, and tried my best to show him that he was wrong. Something just doesn’t add up here. 

 

“It’s certainly not the only reason,” Peter replies, keeping his voice gentle. “I think it’s one to consider. Justin already told us that he didn’t want his mother to lose her business.” 

 

“And I offered to pay the debt. He refused.” 

 

I feel my eyes widen. Brian offered that amount of money to someone who left him for another over four years ago? The guy must be completely insane! Or so filthy rich that half a million doesn’t matter. I can’t quite believe the second. And he never gave me the impression that he was anything but completely sane. Which means there has to be something else. Something neither of us know. Something he doesn’t want us to see. 

 

“I don’t want you to pay for us,” Justin mumbles, but doesn’t raise his head from Brian’s shoulder. 

 

At that Peter’s eyes suddenly sharpen. Like a hawk who’s suddenly found its prey. “Why don’t you want Brian to help you, Justin?” he asks, his voice soft. 

 

“It’s not his problem, it’s ours,” my son replies, shifting in Brian’s arm as if he’s uncomfortable with the question. 

 

Peter leans toward the two men, “But Brian is your friend. Friends help their friends. That’s only natural.” 

 

“But not with half a fucking million,” Justin snaps. “Sorry.” 

 

“No problem. So you would let him help you if … let’s say, it were twenty thousand?” 

 

Justin shrugs at that, not making eye contact. 

 

“Justin,” Peter insists. “Would you let Brian give you money?” 

 

“Is this really necessary?” Brian interrupts, glaring at the therapist. “This isn’t really your problem.” 

 

Peter gives the older man a sharp look, that clearly warns Brian to keep out of this, then looks back at my son. “I asked you something, Justin? Would you allow Brian to give you money? Any amount of money?” 

 

Finally Justin’s head comes up. “No,” he states defiantly. 

 

Brian frowns at that, looking down at the younger man. “Why not?” 

 

Justin shrugs, “Because.” 

 

“That’s no explanation.” 

 

My son’s eyes flash, “It’s none of your business.” 

 

“Well, I’m making it my fucking business,” Brian says angrily. “Newsflash, Sunshine, I’m going to give your mother the damn money, and she’s going to take it, and pay off that old swine. And there isn’t a thing you can do to prevent it.” He looks at me, his eyes speaking volumes, “Isn’t that right, Jennifer?” 

 

For a moment speechless, I still have enough control to manage a whispered, “Yes.” I hardly can believe I said it. That I didn’t question Brian’s actions for a moment. But there were his eyes. When I looked into them, I just knew I could trust this man. Is this what Justin sees too? 

 

“No,” Justin jumps up, backing away from the sofa. “No.” 

 

“Why not?” Peter asks. “Tell us. Why don’t you want him to help?” 

 

“Because … I don’t want him to.” 

 

“Do you fear being indebted to him?” Peter wants to know. “It’s not like with Ethan, Justin. Brian won’t force you to do anything.” 

 

Strangely, I’m not even surprised anymore at the trust Peter seems to have in Brian. Everyone seems to trust this man. And surprisingly, I’m one of them now. 

 

“I know he wouldn’t,” Justin whispers, his eyes on Brian. “He never even asked me to pay my tuition money back.” 

 

“You never-,” I exclaim, then bite my tongue. This is not the time and place to discuss more secrets. He never told me about that one either. Not that it really surprises me anymore. I just find myself getting to know a man who was once born from my own womb. I want to weep that I let this happen, that my own dreams were more important to me than my own child. Oh, Justin. I’m sorry, darling. Please forgive me, if you can. 

 

My son shakes his head, sadly. “He wouldn’t take it.” 

 

“You could make a payback plan,” Peter offers. 

 

“NO,” Justin insists firmly. “I won’t take it.” 

 

“So you’d rather have Hollis’ hands on you?” Brian grits out, furious now. He still sits there, looking completely in control, but his eyes are dark with anger. “You’re an idiot.” 

 

“But how can I take money from you?” Justin cries, his eyes watering. “How can I take money after what I did to you?” 

 

“Did to me?” Brian frowns, “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

 

Blue eyes spill over, “I … I cheated on you, remember? With Ethan. The same Ethan who did this to me.” He points at his chest, now covered by his sweater. 

 

“Is that the reason you don’t want Brian to help?” Peter has risen too, is looking at Justin. “Because you cheated on him?” 

 

“I hurt him,” Justin sobs. “Brian would never admit it, but I know I hurt him. And now … now he’s offering his help. Can’t you see that I can’t accept it?” 

 

“That’s stupid, Justin.” Brian shakes his head, “Besides it’s decided. I won’t give you the money. I’ll give it to Jennifer.” 

 

Stunned I stare at him, his words only now sinking in. When he said it the first time, I thought it was merely an attempt to get Justin speaking. But now I realize he’s dead serious. He’s going to hand me half a million dollars. Just like that. Why the hell would he do such a thing? He can’t be that infatuated with my son. Yes, I know he cares for Justin, but this? My heart flutters a little, a new truth settling there, something I’m not quite ready to acknowledge. Yet it’s there, beneath the anger, beneath all the layers, in the depth of two beautiful hazel eyes. 

 

“Justin?” Peter approaches him, then stops about two feet away. My son blinks, but says nothing. “Did you think you deserved what Ethan did to you because you cheated with him on Brian?” 

 

Brian sucks in a sharp breath, staring at his therapist. All I can see is the sudden shock in Justin’s eyes, the way his hands start to tremble. “I … I …” 

 

“Peter,” Brian tries to intervene. 

 

But he’s instantly cut off by Peter’s sharp words, “You keep out of this. Justin? Tell me. Is it because you thought you deserved it?” 

 

“No,” my son insists. Then he lowers his head, “I mean … I don’t think … I … I don’t …,” his head comes up again, “I don’t think I deserved it.” 

 

Peter smiles slightly, “You’re right, you didn’t. But maybe you for a while you thought that anyway.” 

 

The blond head goes back down, avoiding the therapist’s gaze. “Maybe,” Justin mumbles, wrapping his arms around himself. “I … I did cheat on Brian. And then Ethan … I mean … I left Brian for Ethan.” 

 

I actually see Brian flinch at that. He pales a little, but nothing else happens. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t react in any other way. Still, I would be a fool to miss the hurt in his eyes. It’s been four years and there’s still pain. I think if an asteroid would hit the earth right now, I couldn’t be more surprised. I know Brian cared for Justin back then, but now I realize it was much deeper, and even after four years the wounds are barely healed. And yet he’s here and ready to help. Is it possible I seriously misjudged this man? That I let myself be blinded by his lifestyle? That I only saw the shell, and never bothered to discover the core? Did I do the same with Ethan? Does it make me a superficial person? 

 

“And then you needed to succeed in your new relationship, didn’t you?” Peter talks quietly, but firmly. His eyes are focused on Justin, standing close enough to touch if needed, but far enough not to intrude if not wanted. 

 

My son nods, shame washing over his features. “I … I wanted it to be alright. I left Brian. I didn’t want to admit that it was for nothing. I told Brian Ethan loved me. I … I think I wanted to believe he truly did. I wanted to believe … I loved him, too.” 

 

“Oh, honey.” I’m up on my feet, solely acting on motherly instinct, and reach for him, not waiting for Peter’s approval. This time Justin doesn’t evade my touch, and I feel tears stinging in my eyes when he allows me to take him in my arms. “Darling.” 

 

I look at Peter then and he nods. “A lot of people feel that way, Justin. There’s no reason to be ashamed. They stay with partners, even though they don’t love them, for many different reasons.” He pauses, and waits until Justin raises his head and looks and him, before he adds, “Guilt can be very powerful. A lot more powerful than love.” 

 

At that Brian surges to his feet and walks to the window staring out into the garden. His back seems unnaturally stiff, and I can his hand shakes slightly when he combs his fingers through his hair. 

 

Peter has obviously seen it too, because he turns to the other man, “Brian?” 

 

The brunette at the window merely shakes his head and says nothing. He seems so alone, standing there. 

 

“Brian, it’s not your fault either,” Peter tells him quietly. 

 

“It wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me. Justin wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t him treated so badly.” The words are clipped, but the voice is low, barely audible where Justin and I stand. 

 

“Don’t do this, Brian,” Peter’s voice is urgent all of a sudden. Something’s happening between them I don’t understand. Justin’s head comes up, and he looks at Brian with concern in his eyes. 

 

“It’s the truth.” 

 

“No.” Justin pulls away from me and walks over to the man at the window, walking around him, so can look at Brian. “It is not your fault. I told you before, things happen you can’t control. We don’t know what would’ve happened. It’s useless to think that way.” 

 

“But-“ 

 

“No,” Justin shakes his head. Then he suddenly wraps his arms around Brian’s neck and pulls him close. And slowly, so very slowly, Brian’s arms come around Justin’s waist, returning the embrace. 

 

I find myself watching them in awe. Until a few moments ago, it was Brian who was giving his strength to help Justin, and in a matter of seconds it turned around completely. Now Justin is the helper, and Brian the one who needs him. 

 

“Maybe we should leave them on their own for a little while,” Peter suggests. “I could really do with a cup of coffee.” 

 

I nod almost absentmindedly, but my eyes are still on the two men at the window, tightly entwined, holding onto each other, seemingly with all their might. As I’m watching, my son pulls back a little and I can see them looking at each other for what seems like an eternity, before Brian’s head comes down and their lips meet in a gentle kiss. 

 

Blinking tears away, I smile at Peter, who smiles back at me. “They’re good for each other.” It hurts to say it, but I nevertheless recognize the truth. 

 

“Yes,” he confirms. “I think they are.” 

 

Taking a deep breath, I walk to the door, “Well, how about a cup in the kitchen then?” 

 

“Great idea,” he replies stepping out into the hall. 

 

I pause in the doorway for a moment, taking a last look at my son. He is completely relaxed in Brian’s arms. And I have to smile when I realize that this time it doesn’t bother me at all.


	11. Charade

“They’re gone,” I whisper a few minutes after I heard the door close behind my mom. I don’t want to move though, feeling much to comfortable where I am. There isn’t a place I feel safer than in Brian’s arms. Not that I’d ever tell him, of course. Or maybe I might. In a few years. When … When, what? Nothing is solved, and just because we’re standing here in each other’s arms, it doesn’t mean anything. 

 

Sobering at the thought, I finally pull back to look up at him, only to find him with his eyes closed, the face composed, as if he’s far away, somewhere only he knows. A place where nobody can follow him. It doesn’t really surprise me. One of the things that always came to my mind when I thought of Brian during the past years – and it was often – was of a man being completely alone. Yes, he has friends, but I always had the feeling that none of them really knows who he is. Not even Michael, who’s always been a good friend to him. 

 

“Brian?” 

 

Startled eyes open and look at me, and he blinks before he’s able to focus. A frown appears on his otherwise smooth forehead. “What did you just say?” 

 

“I said, Peter and Mom are gone. They left a few minutes ago. Didn’t you hear them?” 

 

He slightly shakes his head in the negative, before he steps back, his arms falling away from me, leaving me cold and lonely. Rubbing his forehead, he turns to gaze out into the dark garden. “Why did they go?” 

 

“I think they thought we needed a few moments to ourselves.” I stand only two feet away from him, but we could well be oceans apart. He seems aloof, not touchable at all. And that after we held each other just a few seconds ago. Shivering slightly, I wrap my arms around myself. How can you be so close to someone and then so far apart from him? 

 

“I see,” he says. “Are you okay now?” 

 

Okay? How can I be okay when you push me away? “Yeah, sure.” 

 

“That’s good then.” I see him taking several deep breaths, his hand now absentmindedly rubbing his nape. 

 

Not sure what to say, I keep quiet, simply watching him, wishing I had any right to touch him, just to hold him, to make him feel better, the way he did with me. But Brian isn’t me, and helping him isn’t something I’ve ever been very good at. Most of the time I couldn’t even read the signs he was sending out to me. Or I ignored them on purpose. Who knows? It isn’t that important anyway. Not anymore. I sometimes wonder if our breakup was inevitable. If we’re simply not meant to be together. 

 

“What did you ever see in me?” 

 

The question, asked quietly, in a voice bare of any emotion, surprises and shocks me at the same time. Doesn’t he know? Doesn’t he see why people are drawn to him like bees to the honey? Isn’t he aware of the irresistible attraction that surrounds him constantly? 

 

“What I … saw in you?” 

 

“Yeah. Why did you come with me that night?” 

 

He still doesn’t look at me, still stands there, like a statue, as if there isn’t a spark of life in him. Not like that night. That night he was oozing sexuality from every fiber of his body, from every pore. Never in my life had I felt anything remotely like that. How can he even ask? Didn’t he feel it too? 

 

“I … just wanted you, I guess,” I answer, not sure how to put it into words. How can I explain that nothing short of an A-bomb could’ve kept me from him that night? 

 

A stiff nod. Then silence again. 

 

Then, “I wanted you too. You were standing under that streetlight and I had to have you. I think,” he pauses, chuckles slightly. “I can’t remember ever wanting anyone the way I wanted you that night.” 

 

It seems Brian doesn’t have the same problems as I. He finds the words I was so desperately looking for. 

 

Wait. 

 

Is Brian actually talking to me? Revealing his innermost thoughts? 

 

I feel myself freeze at the enormity of what’s happening right now. What am I going to do? How can I keep him talking? 

 

But it seems it’s not necessary, because he does it anyway. 

 

“God, I was so wasted. After Gus was born I took Mikey on the roof and I don’t remember how much E I had inside of me. But I still knew I wanted you. You …” he pauses, a wistful smile playing around his lips. “You were so young. It was your eyes, you know. I wanted to look into your eyes forever.” 

 

I swallow, my heart beating in my throat at the admission. I don’t know what made Brian talk about his feelings, but I’m completely mesmerized by it. “My,” I start. But my voice sounds like a squeak and I have to clear my throat first. “My eyes?” 

 

“Yeah. They’re very blue. Do you know that?” 

 

Of course I know. I look into them each morning. Never thought they were anything special. “I always loved yours.” Does that sound lame? And who cares how it sounds anyway? “I always thought hazel eyes were pretty dull, but yours aren’t.” He has the most amazing eyes in the world. I used to see them in my dreams. Still do. 

 

He gives a little laugh, but doesn’t comment. “And you were tight. God, you were so tight. Like I, when-“ He stops, as if contemplating his next words, then makes a dismissive motion with his hand. “It’s not really important.” 

 

“No.” I make a step towards him, “Of course it’s important.” I have no idea if it is important, but I don’t want him to stop, I want him to open up a little more. 

 

He shakes his head and finally turns to look at me, his hazel eyes dark, the pupils dilated from looking into the darkness. The face seems unreal for a moment, the light from the ceiling playing on his features, illuminating one side, while the other is in the shadow. “I’m glad you feel better now.” 

 

“I’m glad my mom knows,” I reply. “You’re going to give her the money?” 

 

He shrugs, “Sure. I said so, didn’t I?” 

 

I sigh, knowing that I can’t win this argument. I still don’t feel comfortable about taking his money. It’s one thing for him to pay my therapy-sessions with Peter, but half a fucking million? But I know in Brian’s mind everything’s settled anyway. 

 

“Did she touch you a lot?” 

 

Huh? “Mom?” 

 

He nods. “I bet she did. She’s that kind of mother.” 

 

I feel a flush of embarrassment rising in my cheeks, remembering all the unwanted times she touched me. The one time she kissed me in front of my whole class. I was ten, and I thought I would die of shame. But I also remember all the other times. “Yeah. She always … it can be kind of embarrassing, you know.” I laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s lost in thoughts. 

 

“The only time he ever touched me was when he hit me. Said touching was for sissies.” His eyes are very dark, so full of pain, I want to scream. And I wish his asshole of a father was still alive. At least I could hit him. Not that he would care. I never met the guy, but that’s how I picture him. Cold. Uncaring. Bare of any emotion. He would probably laugh at me. 

 

“How … how about your mom?” Not that I particularly like her either. I only met her once. And it was enough, believe me. I can still hear her telling Brian that he’s going to end up in Hell. I thought it was ridiculous. But Brian didn’t laugh. Remembering the afternoon, I can still see him. Standing in the doorway, looking like a lost little boy. 

 

“My mother?” He stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “He called her the warden. I still don’t know why they got married in the first place.” He shakes his head, “I can’t really remember. Maybe she did touch me.” 

 

God, he looks so lonely, standing in the middle of our living room. I’m only a few feet away, but I know that he wouldn’t want me to close the gap between us. “She must have held you.” Don’t all mothers hold their children? But then, this is Joan Kinney, in her presence not even a hard-on, caused by an overdose of Viagra, had a chance. 

 

Brian shrugs, rubs his palm over his face, then sighs. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Justin.” 

 

Not quite able to follow him, I ask, “Going out on a date?” 

 

“No,” he shakes his head, and gives me a long, incredibly sad look. “No, I mean this,” he gestures first at me, then at himself. “Us.” 

 

“Us?” It’s the first time he’s even admitted there is an us. No, wait. He just said there wasn’t, was he? “Why?” 

 

“I could never give you what you want,” he states quietly, his voice hollow. 

 

I lick my lips, “And … and what do you think I want.” 

 

“Love,” he replies simply. “You want to be loved. And you deserve it.” Sighing, he moves back to the window, staring into the darkness once again. “I thought … maybe I could. This time. But I just … I don’t think I can. I don’t know how to do it.” 

 

He doesn’t know how to love. “But … Nobody knows. I mean, I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time.” 

 

“But you know love. I … I don’t want to hurt you again, Justin. Once was enough.” 

 

I wish I could tell him he didn’t hurt me. But the truth is, he did. He hurt me badly. It was bad enough that I turned to the first guy who gave me pretty words and things. Like a fool I fell for all the superficial bullshit Ethan was using on me, instead of staying and fighting for what I really wanted. Brian. Brian’s love. Maybe it’s an excuse that I was only nineteen, and that Brian had treated me like shit. But seeing him like this, now, I wonder. 

 

“Isn’t it up to me to risk that?” 

 

He shakes his head. “No. Last time you went straight into Ethan’s arms. Never again.” 

 

“It’s not your fault what he did to me-“ I want to protest, but he cuts me off. 

 

“It is – partially.” 

 

“No.” I shake my head emphatically. 

 

“Don’t deny it, Justin. I know what happened back then. I was there, remember. If I weren’t such an emotional cripple, you wouldn’t have turned to him in the first place.” He looks at me over his shoulder, and I can’t deny his words, because they’re true. 

 

Still, I can’t leave it like this. “But if I had been stronger, I would’ve stayed and-“ 

 

“You were fucking nineteen years old,” Brian argues, his voice sounding a little angry. “Of course you fell for pretty words. It’s only natural.” He sighs wearily. “I don’t have pretty words, Justin.” 

 

“I don’t want pretty words. I’ve had enough of them for the rest of my life.” Shit. The moment the words are out, I want to take them back. I see Brian flinch as if he’s been hit, and even in the semi-darkness near the window I can see his face losing all color. He’s feeling guilty enough already. He certainly doesn’t need to be reminded of what Ethan did. 

 

“I wish … I could give …” Again he shakes his head. “I know I could never be monogamous.” 

 

“Monogamy is overrated,” I reply without hesitation. And it is. I’ve learned that the hard way. Ethan was completely monogamous. There were a lot of days I wished he wasn’t, that he’d take his sick games and use them on someone else. 

 

“Is it?” Brian gives me a doubtful look. “Isn’t monogamy a part of love?” 

 

“You mean because it’s morally accepted?” I can see the surprise in his eyes at my statement, and have to smile. “I learned some things too, you know.” 

 

“So it seems.” 

 

“Just because it’s the right thing for Mel and Linds, it doesn’t have to be the same with us. What is monogamy anyway? To not fuck around? Or to love only one person?” Yes, I thought a lot about this. While Ethan and I were in Europe I met a lot of gay couples. The one I remember most, are Giorgio and Carlo. We met them in Rome. Giorgio was responsible for Ethan’s concerts there. He and his partner had been together for over twenty years. They’d never been monogamous in the strictest sense. But I never saw two people more devoted to each other, or more in love. 

 

“So you wouldn’t expect your partner to be monogamous?” 

 

I shrug, “No. Not if I knew he loved me.” 

 

He sighs. “Which brings us back to where we started.” He rubs his nape wearily. “You still wanna go out on…,” he trails off, waiting for my answer. 

 

But I have only a question for him. “What about you?” 

 

He laughs slightly, “I feel a little worn out.” 

 

“So do I. But if you-“ 

 

“No,” he shakes his head, give me a little sad smile. “I understand. Why don’t you just … do whatever you want. And I’ll just go.” 

 

He walks to the door and all I know is that I can’t let him go like this. “Brian?” He stops, and I take a deep breath. “Please, don’t go.” 

 

He smiles at me sadly. “There’s nothing more to say, Justin.” 

 

“We could,” I try to think of something, “talk. Just talk. Like friends.” 

 

“I don’t even know if I can be your friend.” He sounds so tired, I want to tuck him into a bed and love him gently, then watch him fall asleep in my arms. 

 

Startled at my own thoughts, I have to smile . “Or we could just go to your apartment.” 

 

“And do what? Fuck our brains out?” 

 

I shrug. “There are worse things than that.” 

 

He smiles, “True. But it’s not what you want.” 

 

That makes me suddenly angry. “Don’t tell me what I want. You have no idea-“ 

 

“No, I don’t,” he agrees. “And that’s part of the problem.” He gives me a long last look. “See you on Friday.” 

 

And then he’s gone, so quickly, I don’t have a chance to say anything else. Not that I would know what, but talking would still be better than this sudden silence surrounding me. 

 

“Brian left?” Peter’s voice startles me a little. It’s so different from Brian’s. 

 

I don’t look at him. “Yeah.” 

 

“He’ll be back.” 

 

I wish I was as certain. “I don’t know. He was so … sad. I never saw him so sad before.” Which is a lie. I saw him like this before. The night when he took me to his apartment. When I was out of the hospital. When he told me about the attack. For a moment I thought he was going to break down in my arms. 

 

“He loves you, Justin.” 

 

I laugh unhappily. “He says he doesn’t know how to.” 

 

“I know,” he replies. And he does. He’s his therapist after all. “Are you even allowed to talk to me like this?” 

 

He shrugs, “I’m not breaking confidence. He never told me he loved you. But I have eyes.” 

 

“People always used to tell me he loved me. Michael. Deb. But what good is it when he doesn’t believe it.” I think I could live with everything. But it would kill me if Brian could never love me. He was right. I could never live without love. 

 

“Your mother could tell you he loves you. Can’t you, Jennifer?” 

 

“I guess,” she says hesitantly. “I think I might have … misjudged him badly. I … I should’ve seen it before. But I was … I was so afraid you’d get hurt again.” 

 

I smile at her. “I know, mom. It’s okay.” 

 

“No,” she shakes her head. “If I had told you, you might never have fallen for Ethan.” 

 

I frown. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing-“ 

 

“He … he came. Each night.” My frown deepens, and she steps a little closer, her eyes intense. “At the hospital. He came to see you. Night after night. Watched you. One of the nurses told me. He never went into your room. But he was always there.” 

 

“What?” My voice barely a whisper, I feel as if the world’s just spinning out of its axis. My knees are weak, and I reach for the banister to steady myself. Brian came to the hospital. Each night. I still remember his casual shrug, his cruel words at my question why he didn’t come and visit. “Why?” I look at mom, betrayal and hurt going deep. 

 

Tears are falling from her eyes, “Because I … You nearly died. And I … I made myself believe that it was because of him. That if he hadn’t been there-“ 

 

“He saved my life,” I shout, letting go of the banister. “He saved my fucking life. Chris Hobbs swung the damned bat. Not Brian. He only came because I wanted him to.” 

 

“I know,” she cries. “I know, darling. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

 

“He said there was no reason to see me. That he could do nothing for me there anyway.” The words are for myself. But I still see Peter blanch. He doesn’t comment it, but I know I’ve just given him a new insight into Brian, one Brian hasn’t shared with him yet. 

 

Brian told me he was emotionally crippled. I didn’t want to believe it, but I know now it’s true. Deliberately he let me believe he didn’t care. Let me believe that I was nothing more to him than a casual fuck. He will never know how much it hurt not to see him. I was lying in my bed, day after day, waiting for him to come, hoping each time the door swung open that I would see a pair of hazel eyes, not Mom, or Deb, or any of the others. I wanted Brian, and he purposely denied it to me. 

 

He came in the dark, like a stranger, watching me sleep. And yes, it might have changed a lot – then. Now? I’m not sure there is anything that can be changed. 

 

I look at my mother, then at Peter, forcing a smile on my lips. “I’m really tired now. Thanks for coming.” 

 

“No problem,” he smiles back, but his eyes are serious, concerned. And I know his concern isn’t for me. 

 

“See you on Friday.” 

 

“Yes,” he nods. “See you then.” 

 

“Good night, Mom.” 

 

“Night, honey.” 

 

I walk up the stairs and into my room, and close the door behind me. Leaning against it, I wonder if Brian is right. I wish I could cry, but there are no tears. Only sadness. When Brian wanted a date I had such hopes. But what good are hopes, when one of us has stopped hoping a long time ago?


	12. Charade

Humming quietly to myself, I’m reading through some files I brought home with me, glad to have some time to concentrate, with Gus asleep and Lindsay out of the house at a meeting. A woman being harassed by her ex-husband, trying to find a legal way to keep him away. It’s the kind of case I hate, because the women are at the end of their ropes, the fear in their eyes tearing your insides apart. But I have to admit it’s extremely satisfying to see their husbands convicted in the end. The problem is, it doesn’t happen all that much. Most of the time, the husbands get off free, grinning at you in a way that makes you wish you could just exterminate them like the rats they are. 

 

I look up in surprise when I hear a knock on the door. Linds has a key, and we’re not expecting anyone. Frowning while I get up, I open the door with a sigh, only to stare, in what can only be described as shock, at the person in front of me. 

 

“Brian?” He certainly is the last person I’d have expected to see. He’s been less of an asshole lately, but I still call him that – sometimes. Yes, he’s changed, even I have to admit it, but not enough for me to stop calling him names. Besides, if I stopped he would probably start thinking I like him. I shudder at the mere thought. 

 

A smirk appears on his face, but it’s different than usual. As if it’s forced, not the natural twist of his lips I’m used to. “Mel. Wouldn’t have expected you to do me the honor.” Not waiting for my invitation, he pushes past me and walks right into the living room where the files are spread on the table. 

 

Following him, I sigh loudly, “Linds isn’t here. She has a meeting with the school board.” 

 

“Should she be out on her own?” 

 

I almost laugh at the comment. It’s such a male thing to say. “Linds is a grown up woman, Brian. She can look out for herself.” I try to give it as much conviction as I can muster. The truth is, I’m worried too. There’s only two weeks left until the baby is supposed to come. But she said she had to go. And when Linds is determined, only an earthquake can keep her from her goal. 

 

Brian shrugs, his eyes wandering around. “I came to see Gus.” 

 

I raise a brow and pointedly look at the clock. “He’s asleep. You do realize what time it is?” Gus has to be in bed at eight. It’s half past ten now. And Brian does know that. Gus has stayed with him repeatedly and over a prolonged period of time these past years. Because as much as I hate to admit it, Gus loves his father, and seeing Brian is good for him. And – God help me – Brian has done a pretty good job being a father. Something I’d never thought possible some years ago. 

 

He looks at me, almost startled. “Oh. Yes, I … I guess he would be.” He turns and I expect him to leave, but he suddenly stops. “Is he okay?” 

 

I frown. “Who? Gus?” 

 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

 

“Sure. He’s fine.” I don’t know what to think of his behavior. I’ve never seen him like this. His eyes are very expressive tonight, even more than usual. But there’s no mischief in them, no superiority. Instead they’re replaced by a deep sadness. And even though I never really liked the guy, it shocks me. 

 

I never particularly cared for his feelings. Most of the time I’m convinced he’s a selfish asshole, not caring for anyone but himself, but tonight he seems suddenly vulnerable. 

 

“That … that’s good.” A fleeting smile crosses his mouth. “What about you?” 

 

Okay. That’s it. He has never asked about me before. Never. “Brian? Are you okay?” 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Dandy.” 

 

He sounds okay, but I know he isn’t. “You sure?” 

 

He sighs, and for a moment he’s the old Brian. But then he turns away, his eyes on the table in the living room. “Are you working?” 

 

“Not really. I brought the files home to ease my guilty conscience. I should’ve worked through them a week ago. But Gus had a cold and-“ 

 

“You should’ve told me. I could’ve taken care of him.” 

 

I’ve had a hard time getting used to the improved version of Brian Kinney. He’s changed a lot during the past years, even though he’s still an asshole - sometimes. But where Gus is concerned, I had to finally admit that his son is one person he genuinely cares for. “You had to work, didn’t you?” 

 

“I could’ve taken a few days off.” A grin comes and goes, but it doesn’t seem genuine. It’s more like he’s playing a role. For my sake? “I’m a partner. I can plan my own schedule.” 

 

“I’ll keep it in mind for the next time. Then you can wipe off the puke and sit by his side, holding his hand when he cries and mopes.” I return his grin. For a moment we share something odd. It instantly makes me feel uncomfortable. “Ah … you want a drink or something?” And what the hell made me say that? Am I gone nuts or what? The last thing I want is spending more time with Brian Kinney than necessary. 

 

“Do you have whiskey?” And of course the asshole accepts. 

 

I sigh inwardly. Should’ve known it. “Sure.” Giving him another glance, I walk into the living room and pull the bottle from the top shelf. When Gus started walking we had to move all the “bad” stuff up. And even though he understands now, not to touch the bottles, we don’t take any risks. 

 

And then a thought comes to my mind. “Is there something wrong with Justin?” 

 

He doesn’t reply, and when I turn, filled glass in my hand, I find him standing at the window, staring into the darkness. “Brian?” 

 

He flinches when I move over to him and hand him his drink. “Sorry,” he gives me a little apologetic smile, but he seems far away. “What? Justin? He’s okay. I’m going to give his mother the money for Hollis.” 

 

That really surprises me. “Jennifer knows? I thought Justin was so adamant about not telling her.” 

 

He sips from his drink. No, rewind that. He gulps it down. In one. Then holds the glass out to me. I hesitate only for a moment, before I go back for a refill. 

 

“He didn’t tell her,” he says, “I did.” 

 

Ah. That explains it. Pouring him a double, I give him a knowing look. “And Justin didn’t take it all that well.” Which had to be expected. Justin was always very protective of the people he cares for. 

 

Brian takes the glass, and shakes his head. “No. It was okay. I think he’s glad it’s finally out in the open.” 

 

Which means his current dark mood has nothing to do with letting the secret slip. “Then what the fuck is wrong with you? You come here in the middle of the night, telling me you want to see your son, who, as you very well know, is fast asleep. So, what’s wrong?” 

 

Again he empties the glass in one large gulp, then puts it down. “You don’t really expect me to spill my guts to you, do you?” 

 

That’s it. “Then why don’t you just get the fuck out?” No, my voice isn’t friendly. Because, frankly, I’m a little pissed. I don’t know what it is, but being around Brian always gets me that way. I’m usually not that bitchy – not anymore, that is. 

 

He gives me a long look, but to my surprise doesn’t move, then turns his face to the darkness. “I’m glad you and Linds are Gus’ parents.” 

 

I find myself staring at his back. What the fuck is going on? Brian is giving me a compliment? “Thanks.” Maybe I should say something profound, but nothing comes to my mind. I feel like I suddenly awoke in a wacky parallel universe. Something very strange is happening here. Brian Kinney is talking to me. *We* are talking to each other, two mature, responsible adults. Maybe I should mark the day in my calendar. 

 

“I like spending time with him, but I …” he trails off, makes an almost helpless gesture with his hand. “I don’t have the slightest idea how to be a parent. But looking at Gus tells me that you’re doing good.” 

 

“We’re trying our best.” And we do. Not that we even know what we’re doing most of the time. Sure, Linds and I read all the required literature, but nothing in the books tells you about doubts that can rob your sleep. And if I’m honest with myself, then I have to admit that being a parent is nothing but trying to find your path, stumbling now and then, and hoping that you never fall. Or if you do, that it’s not too hard. 

 

“Is it okay for me to see him? Just for a moment? I … I won’t wake him.” 

 

I’m surprised by the pleading in his eyes and I suddenly understand how nobody can reject him. Sighing, I nod at the stairs. “Sure. But be quiet.” 

 

He gives me a quick smile before he’s gone, climbing the stairs almost inaudibly, and I look after him, not sure what to think. 

 

*** 

 

When he still isn’t back after twenty minutes I finally decide to look after him, and find him sitting on a chair in Gus’s room, watching his son sleep. Unlike before, Brian’s face seems peaceful now. 

 

He turns his head when he realizes I’m standing in the doorway. “You want me to leave?” he asks in a whisper. 

 

I shake my head, and keep my voice equally low. “No, it’s okay.” I pause, and bite my lower lip before asking, “Brian? What’s wrong?” 

 

He gives me a long look, before his eyes go back to his son. “He is beautiful.” 

 

“Yes, he is.” No doubt there. Gus is the most beautiful boy on this earth. Okay, sure, I’m his mother, so I probably have to say it, but it’s still the truth. 

 

Brian looks up, his eyes thoughtful, and again filled with sadness, and regret. Regret? A strange smile plays around his mouth. “It’s because he’s happy. Because he’s dreaming happy dreams. I can’t remember ever dreaming something happy.” 

 

I have no idea what to reply, and wish more than ever that Linds was back by now. She would know what to say to him. Or she would just take him in her arms, something I could never do, even if my life depended on it. 

 

“I … I tried to talk about it,” he goes on. “Went to see a shrink.” 

 

I gasp. I know it’s probably not polite, but I can’t help myself. Brian and a shrink? Brian and a shrink! It’s like the world’s going to come to an end. “Ah.” Yeah, yeah, I know, not very intelligent. But it’s all I can manage at the revelation. 

 

“He’s pretty good. Name’s Peter.” Brian gives me a short glance. “And if you ever tell anyone, I’m going to kill you.” 

 

I rise both hands. “My lips are sealed.” And besides, nobody would believe me anyway. 

 

He nods, obviously content with my reaction. “But I … I think I’m too fucked up.” A laugh, harsh, quick. As if he’s bleeding inside. 

 

“Brian I-“ 

 

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he interrupts, his voice holding a distinct warning. “I don’t want your pity.” He gets up, and with a last look at Gus, leaves the room. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you,” he adds, as soon as I close the door behind him. 

 

“Don’t expect me to answer that one,” I reply dryly. I wouldn’t know the answer if I tried. The only thing I know is that he’s completely different tonight. Almost accessible. 

 

We walk down the stairs and he opens the front door, but then he stops and turns to look at me. “Thanks for letting me see Gus. Take care of him.” 

 

I frown, but nod. “Of course we will. He’s our son.” On an afterthought I add, “And yours.” 

 

“Not that it ever did him any good, but yeah. He’s mine, too.” He chuckles, but it’s not a happy sound. “I really tried to … be a good father. But I … had a shitty role model.” 

 

Trying to find a reply, I’m saved by Lindsey’s return. Her face lights up – the way it always does – when she sees Brian at the door. “Hey, what are you doing here?” she asks, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. 

 

He doesn’t answer her question, but hugs her – as far as it’s possible around her bulging stomach. “Good night, Linds.” He pats her belly, “Take care of our little daughter,” I hear him say, and then he’s gone. Without another glance he climbs into his car and drives away, leaving me with a myriad of questions. 

 

“What was that all about?” I find Linds looking at me with a frown. Her face shows exhaustion, and I take her hand to pull her inside. 

 

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I tell her, as soon as she sits on the sofa, feet up. “But the strangest thing happened tonight.” I tell her about Brian’s visit and it’s long past midnight before we fall asleep in each others’ arms. But neither of us has an answer to the question, what the hell is wrong with Brian Kinney? 

 

*************************************************************** ******* ****** 

 

Brian is in a very strange mood when he arrives for our session on Wednesday. He is early, and seems a little distraught when he enters my office at ten o’clock in the morning. 

 

“Brian.” I look at him, mug in one hand and point at the table. “Want a cup of tea?” 

 

He stops in his movement as if he’s only now realizing where he is, and blinks, “Ah … no, thanks. Good to see you, Peter.” 

 

I gulp the last of my own tea down and put the mug away. “Same here.” I sit down in my usual chair, but Brian doesn’t. Instead, he only removes his coat, then walks to the window, but doesn’t look out. He simply stands there and I can merely see the outline of his profile against the bright sun. 

 

“I almost didn’t come,” he informs me, his voice oddly blank. 

 

It’s a long time since I heard him like this, and I feel myself frown. “I see. Why?” I start the tape on my desk, and decide not to make notes. Watching Brian might be more important today. 

 

He shrugs, almost as if it doesn’t matter. But the tension in his body, the way he stiffens, tells me all I need to know. I straighten in my chair, and look at him sharply. “Don’t play games with me, Brian. First of all, my time’s too expensive to be wasted that way, and second,” I let my voice soften, “I thought we were past this.” 

 

His reply comes after a short silence, and his voice sounds weary, “So did I. But then, I thought a lot of things. Only to realize I was wrong.” 

 

O-kay. I don’t like the way this is going. It doesn’t sound like Brian at all. At least not like the Brian I’ve come to know. Something is quite obviously wrong. Something I might have missed that night at Justin’s house. Damn. That’s what you get for trying to deal with two patients at the same time. It’s never good. I learned that early, and I should’ve stuck to it. 

 

Hoping that the session might help me to discover what’s really going on, I change the subject. “How’s Justin?” 

 

Another shrug. “How should I know? I’m not his babysitter.” 

 

Ah. “You haven’t talked to each other.” It’s not a question. I know the answer already. And start to understand. Or so I hope. 

 

“Hundred points for the smart therapist.” Sarcasm drips from his voice. I’ve learned early on that he always uses it to hide something. Pain, mostly. I remember the way Justin looked at the door when Brian left the house. A little lost. And sad. So very sad. I didn’t ask him what actually happened, feeling it wasn’t the right time, that Justin had to deal with it himself first. But maybe I should have. 

 

“Brian,” I get up, walk over and come to stand opposite to him at the window. I need to see his face. Just looking at a shadow isn’t enough today. Something is seriously wrong with him, and I need to find out what it is. “What happened with Justin and you in the room?” 

 

“I told him the truth. Finally.” His eyes come up, seeking mine. They’re very dark, but also very guarded, giving away nothing. Alarm shoots through me like wildfire. Brian hasn’t tried to hide his feelings from me for a very long time. 

 

Years of practice make it possible for me to keep my cool, and I merely raise a brow. “The truth?” 

 

“Yeah.” His eyes are very intense. “He needed to know it.” 

 

“Are you going to tell me about it?” Only a week ago, he would’ve told me. Would’ve blurted it out, trusted me without reservation. Not so today. Today is different. This Brian is different. Aloof. Cool. Detached. As if nothing can touch him. As if he can touch nothing in return. As if he’s not even part of this universe. I feel a cold shiver run down my spine. 

 

He gives a short laugh. No, not really a laugh. It’s more a snort. “Thought you’d have figured it out long ago. You’re a shrink, aren’t you?” 

 

What’s that supposed to mean? “Yeah. I’m a shrink. But I’m not psychic.” 

 

He snorts again. “Maybe you’re not as good in your job than you think. Or you’re just the best liar I’ve ever met.” 

 

Taking a deep breath, I look at him coolly. “I’ve never lied to you, Brian. And I know I’m good at what I’m doing. I told you before, stop playing games with me.” 

 

“Ooooh. Are you getting angry now?” His brows are raised, his eyes sparkle. On the surface. Hidden beneath is something dark, something I’m frightened of. “Because Brian doesn’t play by your rules?” 

 

“What is this? Some stupid game?” I lean against the window frame. “Because it’s not funny. You’re wasting my time and your money.” 

 

“It’s my money, so why do you care? And as for your time, you get paid for it. Isn’t that the reason you chose this profession?” 

 

I’ve never seen him like this before. Outside he seems completely cool and unfazed. But I can feel something simmering inside, can almost see everything spinning out of control. “No, it’s not the reason I became a therapist, but you already know that. Or at least I thought you did.” Letting my voice drop, I take a step closer to him. “Brian, what’s wrong? What happened?” 

 

He stares at me, his eyes more unreadable than ever, then tilts his head. “I took a good, long look at myself, doc. And I realized that nothing, not even the best therapy can cure something that’s not there in the first place.” 

 

My brows draw together. I wonder if I’ll ever get the guy. Probably not. But right now it doesn’t really matter. “And that would be?” 

 

I almost jump backwards when he laughs. It’s a horrible, hollow sound. “A heart, Peter. I finally discovered that the thing beating in my chest is only some muscle. But it’s certainly not a heart.” 

 

No heart? The guy has the biggest heart there is. God, these parents of his certainly did a thorough job when they raised him. “And how did you find that out?” 

 

“I didn’t.” He reaches in his pocket and to my surprise produces a pack of cigarettes. He stopped smoking a while ago – or so I thought. He lights one with practiced ease, then offers one to me. I shake my head ever so slightly, and continue watching him. His hands are steady, there’s no sign of emotional turmoil and that frightens me even more. It’s almost as if he isn’t in his body anymore, as if his soul has taken a spin off. 

 

Taking a deep drag, he blows out the smoke, before he looks at me again. “Knew it all along. Just tried to delude myself. Worked for a while, you know. Even Gus believed me.” 

 

Feeling tired all of a sudden, I sigh, “Gus loves you.” 

 

“Yeah. Damn waste.” He shakes his head and walks away from the window, over to my desk where I have a picture of my mother. We don’t talk anymore, but I still have her picture. “She looks like you, you know. Everyone says Gus is my spitting image.” For a moment his controlled façade slips, and I see him frown. “I only hope,” he sounds wistful, “it’s all he’s inherited from me. Fortunately Lindsay has the biggest heart there is.” 

 

Which is something we could argue about for hours. I met Lindsay shortly after Brian and I started his therapy. We met by accident in a bookshop where she was with her son and my patient. And while I agree that she’s a warm and affectionate person, I’ve certainly met people with a bigger heart than hers. And I found myself wishing that Brian had chosen friends a little more devoted to him. Someone like Brian especially needs people loving him without reservation. Not friends who always expect him to be something they need. 

 

I later asked him if all his friends were like Lindsay and he told me she was the best of them. It didn’t make me any happier. Then I met Justin and knew he was different. Oh, he is an intelligent man, and certainly is no pushover. That’s not what Brian needs anyway. But unlike Lindsay, Justin loves Brian and doesn’t expect him to perform, or play a certain role. And Brian with his down-to-earth attitude can keep Justin grounded. They’re good for each other. If I only could get Brian to believe it. 

 

Unfortunately, so far he’s resisted every attempt to make himself believe in his ability to love. And today it seems worse than ever. I really ought to kick myself for having been so careless that night in Justin’s house. Brian was hurt far more than I thought. And I obviously overestimated Justin’s ability to help. 

 

“I think,” I say slowly, watching him standing at my desk, his face dark and drawn, “Gus is very happy to have you for a father.” 

 

He snorts at that, but doesn’t look at me, just keeps staring at the picture. “You don’t talk to your mother, do you?” 

 

“Not anymore,” I confirm. We once talked about that. When he started telling me about the relationship with his parents. He said I wouldn’t be able to understand. I remember laughing. Then I reminded him I was gay, too. I suppose my mother still lowers her head in shame when she crosses the street, afraid someone might actually look at her. She once told me she was certain she was to be blamed for what happened to me. As if I had a disease. Then she told me, I should leave her house and never come back again, and that, if I would, she’d claim she didn’t know me at all. 

 

“Sometimes I wish mine would do the same.” He takes a last drag from his cigarette, then uses the ashtray standing near the tape recorder. 

 

“No, you don’t,” I reply without hesitation. “Believe me, you don’t.” Yes, I can look at what happened with Mom with sarcasm these days, but that doesn’t mean the wound doesn’t still hurt. Because it does. Every day. Every night. Every time I allow myself to think of her. And there isn’t a moment when I don’t wish it was different. 

 

He shrugs again. Then turns away from the desk, his back to me. Stiff, unapproachable. “You will continue your therapy with Justin?” 

 

Taken aback by his question, I frown. “Sure. Brian, what-“ 

 

He raises a hand, stops me with a wave. “Nothing.” Turning back to me, he smiles. I suppose it’s the kind of smile his clients see. Practiced. Impersonal. “The hour is over, I see. I’m sorry, I have to hurry. I have a million things to do today. A lot to organize.” 

 

My frown deepens. What the fuck is going on? “I would like to reschedule our next appointment.” I walk to the desk, feel his warmth when I pass him. “How about you come on Friday, just before Justin. You could come together.” 

 

“Worried, doc?” 

 

The mocking sound of his voice has me looking up. He’s smirking at me, seemingly sure of himself. But then I see him stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket and they’re trembling. 

 

“Brian,” I look at him for a long time. “We need to talk about this. Whatever bothers you goes deep. But if you trust me, we can work this out.” 

 

He laughs mockingly, “Sounds great. But unfortunately I can’t be here on Friday.” His eyes flicker to the clock on my desk. “I really need to leave now.” 

 

“What are you going to do?” I ask, not able to hold back the concern in my voice. 

 

He gives me a long look, his eyes veiled, his emotions hidden once again. Then, a smile appears on his lips. “Remember, doc, you once told me to write a letter to my mother?” I nod. Yeah, I remember. I once told him he should try to put his emotions into words, hoping it might help him to deal with his demons. “I might just do that,” he tells me, then leaves the office without turning back. 

 

I sit in my chair, more worried than I’ve ever been before, wishing I could talk to somebody. Wishing there was something I could do. And that’s when I suddenly realize that Brian hasn’t confirmed our appointment next Wednesday. My whole body growing cold, my mouth going dry, I stare at the picture of my mother, knowing that she won’t be able to give me the answers I need right now.


	13. Charade

Debbie is, of course, the first to spot me when I step into the diner on Thursday morning. A huge smile spreads across her face and I find myself enveloped in a bear hug. 

 

“Sunshine.” Pulling back she pecks me on the cheek, then instantly tries her best to remove the traces of lipstick she always leaves. “It’s so good to see you. I should scold you though. Why are you making yourself scarce?” 

 

My new studio isn’t so far away from the diner, so she’s right, I could come more often. But how can I explain that meeting all the old faces is still a little uncomfortable? And that after the way Brian walked out on me the last time we met, I’m not sure how to act around him should we meet by accident. He’s obviously decided to avoid me the best he can. How else am I supposed to interpret his message on my mailbox? 

 

‘Hey, it’s me. I can’t pick you up on Friday. Maybe your mom can drive you to Peter’s. Now that she knows.’ Click. No ‘goodbye’, or ‘how are you’, nothing. As if he’s cutting me out of his life. And it hurts. Fuck, it hurts so much, I want to scream all the time, knowing very well how useless it would be. Especially now that I’m finally starting to really see him. 

 

I’m still reeling from the fact that he came to the hospital every night and never told me. What kind of person does such a thing? Mom tried to tell me that he was acting selfless, trying to protect me from himself. And maybe in his own twisted way he was. But it doesn’t change the fact that there’s something seriously wrong with him. I mean, it would be selfless if I didn’t want to see him. If by not letting me know, he was doing me a favor. That would be a selfless gesture. 

 

Instead he was hurting me. I can’t count the times I hoped he would step through the door, smile at me, hold my hand, or kiss me. But each time the door opened it wasn’t him. And each time a part of me died. A part of my love for him died. I didn’t realize it then, but later, when I was in Europe, I understood. Understood that a part of me hated him for it. And that part made it possible for me to leave him in the end. But what hurts even more is to find out that Brian obviously wanted me to act that way. Pushing me away in the worst possible way was part of his fucking plan. 

 

I finally figured it out, the night after he left our house, while I was lying on my bed, my eyes dry, while my soul wept. For Brian. For myself. For us. For all the dreams dying right in front of my eyes. 

 

“So, what can I get you? You look as if you’re starving.” 

 

Blinking, I stare at her for a moment before my mind finds its way back to the present. “Huh?” 

 

She rolls her eyes. “Has the lack of food already affected your brain? You’re far too thin, Sunshine.” 

 

I’m not, but I’m not surprised to hear Debbie say so. That’s just the way she is. The eternal mother hen. So I smile and follow her to a booth, where I find myself suddenly sitting next to Emmett. 

 

“Well, well,” he raises a brow, “the chicken’s finally back.” He lets his stern expression slip and it’s replaced by a genuine smile, before I find myself in another hug. “Honey. We missed you. How are you feeling?” 

 

For a moment I’m confused, but then I remember that in their eyes, I’m still mourning my partner. I’ve gotten so used to not have to lie during the last few days. It’s been such a relief to be able to finally drop the act around mom, and to have her understand. 

 

“I’m … uh. … fine.” I give him a smile, not sure what to say. The diner is certainly not the place to reveal the facts about my life with Ethan. 

 

I look around and find a pair of blue eyes smiling at me. They belong to a blond head, and a body that seems to belong on a beach down in Florida. I frown, and the smile in those eyes widens. “I’m Carl. Michael’s boyfriend. I suppose you’ve forgotten all about me.” He sighs dramatically, and looks at Emmett, “What am I gonna do?” 

 

“Honey,” Emmett reaches over the table and pats his arm, “calm down. Your charm isn’t dimming. Just look around. The mouths are still positively watering at the sight of you.” 

 

Carl laughs good naturedly, and I finally remember having seen him with Michael at the wake. I also remember liking him at first sight. No, not that way. Okay, yeah, I was attracted to him. You’d have to be dead not to. He’s around six feet of solid muscle, and has a smile that could melt icebergs. Under different circumstances I could probably fall for him. At least for a night or two, but right now I can’t even think about any other man than Brian Kinney. He might have run out on me, but he’s still the only one I want. Not really a surprise, it hasn’t changed over the past six years. It’s not going to change after a few more days, either. It’s pathetic when you think about it. But hey, pathetic has been my middle name for years. 

 

Inwardly shaking my head at my own maudlin thoughts, I return Carl’s smile. “No, I remember you. I was just kind of-“ 

 

“Mourning a lover?” he asks with compassion in his eyes. 

 

I know he means well, but all of a sudden I’m so angry, that I snort in disgust. “Hardly. After he kicked the shit out of me for two years I was actually deciding wether I should dance on his grave. But, alas, fate didn’t provide a grave, with him falling down into the sea and all.” 

 

It’s deadly quiet afterwards, Carl’s smile seems frozen on his face, while I can hear Emmett gasp, and Deb stiffens visibly beside our table. 

 

“Oh my God, honey.” Emmett’s voice breaks the silence, and he’s fighting tears. “We didn’t have any idea…” he’s clearly upset and struggling to compose himself. 

 

I take a deep breath, “It’s okay. I … I didn’t mean to shock you. But I’m so tired of this charade.” Actually I’m tired of lies in general, Brian’s in particular. 

 

“Sunshine.” I look up and find Debbie dabbing her eyes. “I … I …,” she sniffs, and turns away, “I’m getting you a buttermilk pancake.” 

 

“He … he really hit you?” Carl is clearly shocked, but probably because we aren’t close, he can deal with it rationally. 

 

“Yeah,” I confirm. “But I feel a lot better now. Brian introduced me to his therapist and-“ 

 

“Brian did - WHAT?” Michael’s cry sounds through the diner. Having my back to the entrance, I never saw him coming and it’s closely followed by Emmett’s incredulous question. 

 

“Brian has a therapist?” 

 

Shit! He’s never going to forgive me for that one. Not that it really matters, of course. I suppose it can’t get any worse between us anyway. Still, I’m upset I let the secret slip. “Yeah. He sees a therapist. Look, just forget about it.” 

 

“Why would Brian see a therapist and not tell me?” Michael slips into the booth beside his boyfriend but doesn’t acknowledge him in any way. Instead he looks at me angrily. 

 

Angry myself, I lift my shoulders, “Maybe because he didn’t want you to know?” 

 

“But he told you. Is that what you’re saying?” His voice rises again, “That he trusts you more than he trusts us, his best friends. Why would he do such a thing? You cheated on him.” 

 

“Michael,” Carl puts a hand on his boyfriend’s arm. “Just let it go.” 

 

“Let it go?” Michael turns his incredulous gaze on him. “I’m not going to let it go. Brian’s gonna hear about this. He is such a fucking asshole. He’s supposed to be my best friend. And he trusts me shit.” 

 

“Please don’t give him a hard time about it,” I reply. I’m not sure Brian could take it right now. I still see the sadness in his eyes when I close mine. See the utter loss of hope. He thinks he’s beyond saving, and I don’t know what to do. How am I supposed to help him when even someone like Peter doesn’t seem to be able to? 

 

“We’re not going to give him a hard time,” Emmett promises, his hand on my arm. “Besides, Brian can take it.” 

 

I frown at him, but let it go. Not that I really expect insight from Emmett. He and Brian were never close anyway. But it still makes me wonder. Brian never told his so called friends about Peter. And Emmett hasn’t got a clue what’s going on. What kind of friends are they? 

 

I look at Michael, who is still pouting in Carl’s arms. When he isn’t too busy shooting daggers at me, that is. It’s not my fault, I want to tell him, but keep quiet. It wouldn’t help anyway. Michael and I might have made some kind of truce, even had a mild form of affection for each other, especially while we were working on “Rage”, but we’ll never be friends. He might have gotten over his unfulfilled dreams about happily-ever-after with Brian, but that doesn’t mean we’re not still rivals where he is concerned. At least that’s the way Michael sees it. I never felt that way, but I suppose he’s never gonna believe me anyway. 

 

In his eyes I’m always going to be the blond twink who achieved what he never did, who got what he always wanted. Being with Brian. Being fucked by Brian. And not just once. Repeatedly. I even got to live with Brian, and he’s also convinced Brian loved me. It’s not my fault, but he’s never going to forgive me. Especially as I’m also the guy who, in Michael’s eyes, cheated on Brian, threw away the one man Michael always wanted and could never get. 

 

“Here are your pancakes, honey.” Debbie returns with my food and also places a glass of fresh orange juice in front of me. “Dig in.” 

 

I manage a grin for her sake and she ruffles my hair affectionately. 

 

“Did you know Brian was seeing a therapist?” Michael stares up at his mother, his eyes holding the same accusation they did when he looked at me. Unlike before, there is no anger in them, though. 

 

“He was?” Debbie is clearly surprised by the news, but pleased too. “Well, good for him. If anyone ever needed one, it’s Brian. He’s certainly got enough disorders for a bunch of people. Fucking Jack Kinney.” She shakes her head, “Not that Joan was any better. The one hit him, the other looked away. And affection was a word unknown in the Kinney household.” 

 

Michael snorts at that. “You can say that again. Brian’s mom could freeze the desert with one look out of those cold, condescending eyes.” He shudders a little. “I never felt more uncomfortable than when I had to go over there. Most of the time I simply waited in front of the door.” 

 

“I never met his father, but his mother certainly could make you feel like a six year old,” I add. I still remember the one afternoon when she came to the loft unexpectedly. I had convinced Brian to steal some of Ted’s Viagra and he had a hard on for hours. I felt like I was being fucked right through the mattress, but God, it was glorious. My ass burnt for days, and I had a hard time sitting down, but I didn’t care. Then his mother came, and the day went to hell from there. Not even Brian’s raging hard on had a chance in the face of his mother’s disapproval. 

 

“Oh, worse than that. I was always a little afraid of her,” Michael confesses. “Might be all that praying and church going. I was never one for the religious types.” He shakes his head, and looks at his mother. “Can I have some coffee, please?” 

 

“Sure, honey.” With an affectionate smile at him, Debbie leaves the table. 

 

“She had a way of looking at you,” Michael goes on, as soon as his mother’s gone. “As if she just knew you were going to Hell.” Again, he shakes his head. “Brian really tried his best. If she was my mom, I would’ve dumped her ages ago.” 

 

“You don’t just dump your mother. You can dump your boyfriend, but family stays with you forever,” Emmett remarks. 

 

“Says the guy who never talks about his,” Michael shoots back, then runs a hand through his short hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. But,” he narrows his eyes at me, “I’m still a little-“ 

 

“Yes, we know that, honey,” Emmett gives him a smile, signaling Michael that he’s forgiven. 

 

“Know what?” Deb asks as she returns with the coffee. “Here you go … and … I don’t fucking believe it.” 

 

The coffee sloshes over the table, and Michael swears but then we all notice that Debbie isn’t paying any attention to us, and is staring at the entrance instead. My eyes widen when I see the person who’s just entered the diner, her face leaving no doubt how uncomfortable she is about being here. 

 

She tries her best to ignore the people around her, and as soon as she spots Deb, she walks straight to us. “Mrs. Novotny.” Her voice is terribly uncertain, her eyes flicker around, never fixing on anything, as if she’s trying to tell herself she isn’t really here. “I … I know it’s been a long time … since … well…,” she stumbles over her own words, and breaks off, embarrassed. 

 

Deb is clearly flustered, too, and so I get up, and force a smile on my face. “Mrs. Kinney. I … I don’t know if you remember-“ 

 

“Yes, yes,” her face actually lights up. “You’re Justin. You … you were with my son.” 

 

“It was a long time ago.” I can hardly believe she remembers my name. 

 

“He has a picture of you in his wallet.” Seeing the surprise that has to be showing in my eyes, she explains, “He doesn’t know I saw it. But it once slipped and after a while I remembered having seen you in his loft.” Her eyes, not so cold this time, take on a speculative look, “You must be very special to him. He doesn’t even keep pictures of his family.” 

 

The clearing of a throat has us all turn and look at Michael, who tries his best to ignore my presence all together. No surprises there. Joan Kinney’s words must have hurt him deeply. “Hi, Mrs. Kinney.” 

 

“Michael,” she acknowledges him, then turns back to me. Strangely enough she has obviously decided I’m the person to talk to, and somehow that makes me feel good. I know it’s childish, but I can’t help it. Of course the thought quickly flees my head when I see tears welling up in her eyes. 

 

“Mrs. Kinney?” Tentatively reaching out, I put a hand on her arm. “What is it?” 

 

That’s when I see a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. “He … he wrote me a letter. I … I found it in my mailbox this morning. He must have delivered it himself, because it’s got no stamp.” She holds it out to me and I take it, trying to suppress a shiver when I hold it in my fingers. I don’t know why, but as soon as I’m touching it, a horrible feeling settles in my gut, as if I’m holding a man’s last testimony. I know it sounds crazy, but the feeling just doesn’t want to go away. 

 

Of course the fact that Joan Kinney came to Liberty Avenue because of it, might have something to do with it, too. 

 

Staring at the letter as if it’s suddenly infected with a fatal disease, I wish I’d never decided to come here in the first place. 

 

“Well, aren’t you going to read it?” 

 

I look at Debbie, and my first intention is to snap at her that she should mind her own business, but I find only compassion in her warm gaze. So instead of giving her a snappy response, I swallow hard and slowly open the letter, and find myself looking at Brian’s familiar handwriting. 

 

“I … I’m not sure what to think of it,” Joan’s voice is trembling. I can hardly believe I thought her cold and heartless only a few moments ago. “It sounds … awfully final. He …,” she points at the letter in my hand, and I let my eyes sweep over the lines, “writes that he’s sorry I could never love him. But that he doesn’t blame me.” Helpless she shrugs, “I … always loved him, always will. I can’t believe he doesn’t know. He is my son.” 

 

“Well, you certainly had a strange way showing your affection,” Debbie replies, obviously not feeling sorry enough for the other woman to hide behind a façade for Joan’s sake, and making it crystal clear where her loyalty lies. 

 

Uncomfortable again, Joan’s gaze slips to the ground. “I … it was hard. Living with Jack. He never … he wasn’t a kind man. I know I didn’t always react in the right way. I should’ve … shown my children that I loved them.” 

 

Debbie gives he a last look, then turns to me. “So what else does it say?” 

 

But I’m beyond listening to her. Instead my eyes are glued to the letter, to the last passage in particular. The words are swimming in front of me, and I blink, only now noticing that my eyes have watered up. My heart is beating a mile a minute in my chest, my mouth gone dry, and I feel my palms start to sweat. 

 

Pushing the letter back into Mrs. Kinney’s hands as if it’s acid, I fumble in my pocket for my cell. 

 

“Justin?” 

 

I hear Deb’s voice, but block it out, too upset by the contents of the letter to deal with her right now. Closing my eyes, I try to remember the number and as soon as I do, punch it rapidly, then wait impatiently for the other party to answer. 

 

Shit. Shit. Let him be there. 

 

“Myrtle!” I run a hand through my hair, “It’s Justin Taylor. I need to talk to Peter.” 

 

“I’m sorry, honey,” she replies, and for a moment I wonder what I’ve got on me that makes all older women want to call me ‘honey’, but I instantly dismiss it, too concerned to dwell on such nonsense right now, “but he’s in the middle of a session, and-“ 

 

“You don’t understand,” I interrupt, “this is an emergency. Please, I need to talk to him. It’s about Brian. Brian Kinney.” 

 

“Brian?” She says the name in a way that has my stomach drop through the bottom. Something’s seriously wrong, even more than I thought. There’s no way I can miss the concern in that one single word. Shit. Brian had a session with Peter, just yesterday. Shit. “Just a second, honey.” 

 

She’s gone, and only a moment later I hear Peter’s voice. “Justin?” As much as he’s trying to hide it, I can also hear the concern in his voice. By now, I feel goose bumps all over my body, and my hands are starting to tremble. I know the people around are watching me, but I couldn’t care less. It’s as if my whole being is only focused on one person. And somehow it seems it’s always been that way, ever since I met this guy under a streetlight on Liberty Avenue. 

 

“Yes, yes, it’s me.” 

 

“Myrtle said you were calling about an emergency, regarding Brian?” 

 

“Yes,” I confirm. “I … I can’t explain it right now. But can you meet me at his loft in half an hour? I think it’s urgent.” 

 

For a moment it’s silent, then he’s back. “Yes, I think I can make it. See you in half an hour.” 

 

I shut down the phone and look at Michael. “I need your keys to the loft,” I tell him. 

 

“Why?” He frowns at me, “What’s wrong?” 

 

Trying to keep calm, I simply look at him. “I just need them, please.” 

 

Sensing that Michael’s about to explode, Carl steps in. “Why don’t we drive Justin to the loft?” He looks at his boyfriend, then at me. I don’t like the idea of having to deal with Michael on top of all this, of having to explain things to him, things I’m not even certain I want to reveal. But I simply don’t have the strength to deal with his jealousy right now, and give in. “Fine with me. Can we go?” 

 

“Justin?” We’re almost out of the door when Joan’s voice is stopping me. “What … what’s going on?” 

 

Avoiding her eyes, afraid she’s able to read mine, I force a smile on my face, “I’m not sure. But I’m gonna call as soon as I know. You … you did the right thing coming here.” 

 

She smiles back, but it’s wobbly, and something strange passes between us. Maybe it’s because we’re the only ones who know the contents of the letter, maybe it’s something entirely different. It’s not important anyway. With a last look at her, I leave, Michael and Carl following close behind. 

 

*** 

 

Peter already waits for us in front of Brian’s house, and the mere fact that he obviously tried to get here as fast as he could, accelerates my heartbeat another notch. 

 

“Justin.” 

 

“Peter.” 

 

We exchange a short look, then I nod at my companions. “Peter. These are Michael and Carl, they’re Brian’s friends.” 

 

Peter holds out his hand to them and they shake it, then he turns back to me. “So, what’s wrong?” 

 

Starting to walk towards the entrance, I explain. “Brian’s mother came to the diner. That’s a restaurant. Anyway. She had a letter – from Brian.” 

 

Peter stops, and I see a frown on his face, then nods, “Go on.” 

 

“He … He wrote,” I quickly glance at Michael and Carl as we step into the elevator. “He told his mother that…” I break off, and have to swallow, once again seeing the words on paper, almost hearing Brian say them. “He wrote that he wishes she could’ve loved him. But that he wants her to know that he isn’t holding it against her, because he knows he isn’t a person people can love. And …,” I lick my lips, “and that he wishes her well.” 

 

Peter’s eyes widen at that, and he stuffs his suddenly restless hands into the pockets of his trousers. It’s somehow soothing to see that even a therapist with Peter’s experience isn’t completely unaffected. I suppose it’s part of his success. The feeling that he’s with you all the way, that he isn’t just a therapist, but someone who feels deeply for you. I wonder how he can stand it? 

 

Finally the elevator comes to a stop, and we all rush to the door of Brian’s loft, while Michael fumbles the key into the lock. 

 

I know the moment the door slips open and we walk inside. Not that the loft ever looked really lived in. The only times it remotely resembled a home was while I was staying here. Brian never leaves things lying somewhere. He’s probably too anal to clutter his perfect arrangement. 

 

But now the loft seems dead. As if it’s nothing but empty walls, no life in them whatsoever. I rush inside, up the stairs and into the bedroom. The bed is made perfectly, the sheets flawless, the blue lights out. My eyes darting around, I look for … I don’t even know what. A glimpse of something, of life, of Brian. But there’s nothing. Hurrying on, I run to his closets and find them untouched, all his suits hanging there, perfect as always. 

 

I’m about to proceed into the bathroom, when Michael’s voice stops me dead in my tracks. 

 

“Justin.” 

 

Slowly I turn, my stomach flip-flopping painfully, and walk down the stairs towards him. He looks at me, and this time, there is no anger in his eyes, only pain, and I bite my lips when I see tears running down his face. 

 

I stop a few feet away. “Wh-,” I have to clear my throat, it feels closed up all of a sudden. “What?” 

 

He holds a piece of paper out to me, and for a moment I refuse to take it, an irrational part of me insisting that if I don’t, I can just pretend nothing’s wrong. But the rational part finally wins and I take the paper with trembling fingers. 

 

“It’s for you,” Michael explains, and I can only guess what he feels right now. Brian obviously left a message. For me. Not for him. 

 

I nod, and stare at the folded paper, then like I did before, slowly open it. He hasn’t written more than a few lines, and each word tears into my heart. I can’t stop the tears running down my cheeks as well, as soon as I’m done, I press the letter to my chest, as I would a lover. 

 

Remembering that I’m not alone in the room, and that there’re people waiting for me to say something, I look up. I’m not going to read the letter aloud. It’s mine, and the words are not meant for the ears of others. But they are Brian’s friends, and I deliberately include Peter, and need to know. 

 

“He’s gone.” 

 

Michael gasps in shock. “What do you mean, he’s gone?” 

 

“And he’s not coming back.” 

 

“You mean he left?” Carl is staring at me, obviously having a hard time comprehending what’s happening. 

 

I can only nod and my eyes seek Peter’s. “You don’t seem surprised.” 

 

“I’m not. Not really,” he admits. “He was … different. Yesterday, when he came for his session.” 

 

I turn to the window, looking out on the street. Biting my lower lip, I suppress a sob. I’m not going to cry in front of them. That’ll come later. When I’m on my own. I want it to be private, like the contents of the letter in my hand. “You think he’s going to be okay?” 

 

“I wish I could tell you yes, but we can only hope.” Peter’s always been honest with me, and he’s not going to start lying now. It makes me appreciate him even more. 

 

I nod again, and continue looking out on the street. The space where his car used to stand is empty. Funny, I didn’t notice it when we came. Now it seems painfully obvious. 

 

I hear people whispering behind me, but I block them out, trying to forget their presence, desperately wanting to be on my own. Startled, I look up when I feel a hand on my arm. It’s Peter. 

 

I gulp. “What?” 

 

“Michael and Carl left. I convinced them that you’re going to talk to them tomorrow.” He smiles, but I can’t return it. All I can think is that Brian left, and that there won’t be a chance to make this work. Again he ran and took the easy way out. Only this time, I can actually understand him. 

 

A heavy sadness settles over me, like a shadow, enveloping me with it’s velvet darkness. 

 

“Maybe we can all meet tomorrow?” Peter offers. “Why don’t you just bring them to my office?” 

 

I nod. Words are beyond me. I feel a quick, last squeeze on my arm, then Peter’s gone and I hear the door close behind him. Finally I’m on my own, finally I’m free to weep. 

 

But once again the tears don’t come. 

 

So I simply walk into the bedroom and sink down on the silk sheets. They’re fresh and new, holding no scent of the man who used to live here. But when I close my eyes I can imagine he’s still there, can imagine his lips caressing me, whispering words of love, I always longed for, but never got to hear. 

 

When I close my eyes, I can still dream.


End file.
